


Creating a Monster

by Josey (cestus), junko



Series: The Tea Conspiracy [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Gen, Non-Sexual Slavery, Original Character(s), Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:06:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 41,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22119868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cestus/pseuds/Josey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: Having liberated a young Aizen Sousuke from the Maggot's Nest, Kyouraku and Ukitake arrange for a him to study under a former Kido Commander. Things do not go according to plan.
Series: The Tea Conspiracy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592041
Comments: 28
Kudos: 35





	1. The Kido Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ukitake and Kyouraku deposit Aizen with an old Kido teacher of theirs. Things get off to a rough start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story runs concurrent with [Shell Games.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22198489/chapters/52998226) Though the timelines don't strictly mesh, they should be considered companion pieces as events in one are referenced in the other and subsequent stories will draw together threads from both.

During the long journey into the forest, Ukitake kept telling Sōsuke how much he would like Onigawa. There were promises of ‘fun’ and, more mysteriously, ‘great knowledge.’

Sōsuke had his doubts.

It didn’t help matters that, as he’d watched their numbers dwindle, he’d held out a secret hope that, of all of the children taken from the Maggot’s Nest, perhaps he would be the one allowed to remain with the two shinigami. 

Despite his… mistakes. 

Sōsuke looked down at the thick manacles around his thin wrists. Unlike the first pair, this set couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than what they were: restraints. There was no chain, at least. The restraining these cuffs did was… magical. 

It was explained to Sōsuke how they worked by the woman who had fashioned them for him, but he’d been far too frightened to absorb the information. 

Despite all the assurances, Sōsuke had been so sure that he would end up back in the Maggot’s Nest and left there for good. He probably shouldn’t have tried to pass another boy off as himself, but he couldn’t shake the sensation that his plan should have worked… if his own power hadn’t given him away so completely. Apparently, his power not only could be felt by soldiers miles and miles away, but it had also made the children around him faint.

That was one of the things the woman said: ‘These will protect other people from your....’ what was that ugly-sounding word, again? 

Reiatsu.

His _reiatsu_ made him bad.

Except, when he’d voiced that thought out loud to the shinigami, Kyōraku had ruffled his head and told him, ‘No, it makes you strong. People are just afraid of strength.’ Ukitake had admonished his partner then, and tried to tell Sōsuke that wasn’t true, power wasn’t scary, it was just power.

Sōsuke could tell that Ukitake was trying to be kind, but he knew Kyōraku was right. People had always been afraid of him and this mysterious strength: reiatsu.

But, these shinigami had _reiatsu_ , too. It comforted Sōsuke to walk between them and feel it surrounding him on both sides. 

Kyōraku reminded him of a bear--at least physically. He was so very tall and broad, with thick wavy hair… everywhere, even on his chest. With the traveling hat he always wore and the brightly-patterned pink kimono flowing off his shoulders, he seemed gigantic… even a little dangerous. 

But, despite his giant size, Kyōraku laughed easily and was affectionate. Yet, for as big and boisterous as he was, his reiatsu felt slippery--no, that wasn’t quite the right sensation. Slippery sounded like an animal, but this was something more than that--something you could never catch because it wasn’t really solid, like how the sunlight appeared and disappeared through the canopy of leaves they walked under. 

Sometimes Sōsuke thought Kyōraku’s power was the sun, other times he was convinced it was the deep, cool shadows.

Ukitake’s reiatsu, however, was ever-present. Sōsuke would hesitate to use the word ‘solid’ to describe Ukitake’s power, unless the depth of the ocean was something solid. Like standing on the sea shore on a calm day, it was somehow both impressive and easy to forget how, with a single shift of the wind, it could turn into something terrifying and destructive. 

Physically, Ukitake seemed the least imposing--at least when compared to his partner. Perhaps it was the prematurely white hair that flowed down Ukitake’s back. Dark eyebrows were the only indication that something had happened, too soon, to him. Sōsuke figured that it might have been the shock that turned Ukitake’s hair white--the fear of that terrible creature that hid within the ocean’s depths, the dark god.

When he spotted the cottage in the distance, Sōsuke slowed his feet.

Even though Ukitake said time and time again that this wasn’t a punishment, Sōsuke felt it was. “Can’t I stay with you?”

Ukitake’s face crumpled instantly, he looked to his partner. 

Kyōraku frowned, but placed a hand on Sōsuke shoulder. “I’m sorry, but no. We’ve explained this. Ukitake and I are soldiers. We don’t live together, but separately, in barracks. There’s no place for children there.”

“We could never give you the attention you need,” Ukitake added. “Someone needs to teach you to control that great power of yours, Sōsuke! Onigawa is the very best teacher a boy could hope for. She’ll know just what to do with you.”

Sōsuke wanted to argue, but he’d watched these two shinigami rebuff even the most plaintive cries of the other children they’d dropped off at homes along the way. Besides, he knew he should be grateful. Whatever awaited him in that cottage had to be better than life in prison. 

Despite knowing he should say ‘thank you,’ Sōsuke couldn’t make his quivering mouth do anything useful. He just bowed his head and tried not to cry.

Kyōraku ruffled his hair again. “Don’t look so glum. You want to get those cuffs off, don’t you?”

When Sōsuke looked up at that, Ukitake smiled. “There you go. C’mon now, let’s do our best, shall we?”

#

Onigawa met them at the door in her pajamas. A brightly-colored yukata clung to her every curve--and she had a lot of them. Even though it was well past noon, she looked as though she’d woken up at their knock. Long strands of black and grey hair slipped loose from a braid that had been coiled hastily on her head and held in place by a slender... pipe?

She rubbed her face with both her hands and yawned dramatically. “Oh, is it Tuesday already? Come in! Come in! Long time no see! Long time!”

Sōsuke hung at the doorway, while hugs and ‘hello’s were shared. 

The interior of the small cottage looked as though it had been hit by a typhoon. There were empty bottles of sake scattered on the floor, along with curious containers of herbs and tinctures. Clothing intermixed with parchment scrolls and books of all kinds.

Onigawa pushed her futon haphazardly into the corner and cleared a space for them near the sunken fire pit in the center of the room. As she prodded the embers to life, Kyōraku disappeared into another room where Sōsuke could hear the clattering of dishes and the sound of a pump being worked. Ukitake settled on the floor beside Onigawa. 

“You’re looking good, sensei,” he said.

She made an amused noise. “I thought Shunsui was the flatterer.”

Kyōraku came back into the main room with a heavy iron tea kettle, which he placed on a hook over the fire. “Do you remember what we asked you about, sensei?”

Onigawa looked around the room for a moment before homing in on Sōsuke, standing on the threshold. His grip on the door frame tightened as he felt her gaze sweep over him. He had to swallow the urge to run when she stood up and stomped over to him. She grabbed his arm and examined the manacle around his wrist. She dropped his hand without even looking at any other part of him.

“This is unexpected,” she said, turning towards Ukitake and Kyōraku. “Slaves have been passé for centuries.”

Kyōraku laughed. “We’re not selling him to you, sensei. This is just a loan… hopefully only until Academy. The cuffs are dampening his spiritual pressure.”

She made a disbelieving noise with her tongue. “I felt that one coming for a mile. You might as well take them off him. They’re not working.”

Ukitake and Kyōraku exchanged a small knowing smile. Kyōraku got up with a grunt. “Alright then. C’mere, boy.” He waved Sōsuke over. Cautiously, Sōsuke picked his way through the detritus to stand beside Kyōraku. “Let’s take off just one, shall we?”

From some mysterious place inside his uniform, Kyōraku produced a little key. It didn’t look like any of the many keys Sōsuke had seen in the Maggot’s Nest. It had no teeth at all. Instead, it was like a little cylinder that had a ring on one end. The length of it had colored bands that Sōsuke swore pulsed and moved. Kyōraku rested the flat end of the cylinder against the manacle on Sōsuke’s right hand and the metal split apart and fell off.

Suddenly, before Sōsuke could stop it, a strange sort of wind swirled at his feet. It spread outward, carrying the bottles and papers and clothes in the room along with it, like a small tornado.

Onigawa’s eyes finally went to Sōsuke’s face. “It’s… monstrous.”

Ukitake looked a little pained at that, and lightly touched her arm. “But, remember what we were like?”

“But, this is only half,” she said.

Sōsuke was surprised when everything fell to the floor. His attention had been focused on Onigawa and Ukitake; he didn’t notice Kyōraku snapping the manacle back into place. “That’s why he has these. You can help him,” Kyōraku said, settling himself back down. “‘Shiro tells me that he’s a fast learner.”

“He can already read,” Ukitake put in helpfully.

“You agreed, sensei,” Kyōraku insisted.

They sat on either side of Onigawa, leaning in so close to her that there was no place for Sōsuke to sit. So, he stood where he was, just behind Kyōraku and held his breath. Maybe she didn’t want him, after all. Maybe the two shinigami would _have_ to take him back with them.

“Tsk,” she said, pushing Kyōraku and Ukitake away from her. She stuck a finger in her ear and wiggled it. “Can he do anything useful?”

Kyōraku glanced back at Sōsuke, tipping up his hat. He smiled, “I’m sure he knows how to clean and make a bed. They had you doing that sort of thing before, no?”

“Yes, sir.” Sōsuke had wanted to lie and insist that he was utterly useless, but his pride wouldn’t let him. He did think there might be another way to put her off him, however. “We were required to keep our cells tidy, the rest of the prison, too. I had laundry duty and--”

Onigawa raised a hand to cut him off. “Prison?”

Ukitake had that pained look again. “It’s nothing terrible. He committed no real crime,” he insisted quickly. “The Gotei has a policy, you see… uh, it’s his reiatsu. You saw it. He was born with all of that, and, erm--”

“Ah, let’s not mince words, Jushiro,” Kyōraku said. “The kid was probably some nobleman’s bastard. With that kind of power, he couldn’t be allowed to grow up underfoot, now could he?”

Onigawa nodded at that. “I wonder why they didn’t just kill him?”

Sōsuke’s heart thudded heavily in his chest. Kill him? Had there been a worse option than the Maggot’s Nest this whole time?

Kyōraku shrugged. “The woman was probably a favorite.”

His mother?

“Still. They could’ve promised her one thing and then taken him out back. It’s not like she’ll ever see him again. It’s what I’d’ve done,” Onigawa said lightly, as if they were discussing the weather. She got up on her knees to check on the tea water. Seeing that it was boiling, she turned to Sōsuke and said, “The tea things are in the kitchen. See if you can be useful enough to find them.”

“Now, now that’s hardly fair,” Ukitake said standing up. “No one could find anything in your mess. I’ll help him.”

Sōsuke was disappointed to be led into the kitchen at that point because Kyōraku was leaning in to Onigawa to say something more. His voice was low, and so all Sōsuke could catch was: “I suspect someone was hoping to harvest--” 

“Don’t pay any mind to them,” Ukitake said as he rooted through various cupboards. Finding a tray, he handed it to Sōsuke. “Hold on to this,” he said, continuing his search for saucers and tea bowls. After finding each, he put it on the tray Sōsuke held. “Onigawa can be very blunt and gruff, but she taught me everything I know about reiatsu manipulation. She understands deep…” He glanced down at Sōsuke and smiled kindly, “... scary power. I know what she said probably hurt your feelings, but you’re not the first… erm, monster she’s met.”

“She’s met your god?”

“Oh, ah, yes! Just so,” Ukitake said. “But, you do remember that that’s a secret, right?”

Who would he tell? Onigawa’s cottage seemed completely isolated in the wide, open prairie. “Yes, sir.”

Setting the last of the tea things on the tray, Ukitake smiled and patted his head. “You probably shouldn’t tell anyone about your time in Maggot’s Nest, either. They might not understand that you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Sōsuke nodded, though he still wondered if that were really true. Maybe everything about him was wrong. Onigawa thought he should have been killed and he was still in manacles, after all.

#

Sōsuke found out that he _had_ been sold, in a way. Kyōraku gave Onigawa the key to Sōsuke’s manacles and an envelope full of ken “for her trouble.” Quiet arrangements were made for more money to be sent once a month.

Sōsuke and his new… guardian sat together on her front porch. He watched Kyōraku and Ukitake walk away, while she counted her money. “Mmm,” she said when she finished. “Enough to finally buy a few chickens. You’d like fresh eggs, wouldn’t you, kid?”

The two shinigami disappeared into the deep forest at the foot of the mountain. As the bright pink kimono slipped from sight, Sōsuke felt something close off in his heart. “You should have held out for a cow. He paid much, much more to the prison guards for me.”

She laughed and gave him a little nudge with her toe. “Yeah, but you’re the gift that keeps on giving. I’ll be able to afford that cow eventually. Maybe even some goats. C’mon, kid, let’s go inside and see what you can do.”

Sōsuke got up enthusiastically, thinking she meant to show him how to manipulate his reiatsu.

Instead, he spent the day cleaning her house.

#

Each day, Sōsuke woke less and less hopeful that Onigawa would ever teach him anything he actually wanted to know.

In the first two weeks, she had explained nothing beyond what she expected him to do for her around the cottage, while she slept and smoked. 

He would be resentful, but Onigawa was not a demanding or cruel taskmaster. In fact, she was often quite satisfied with ‘close enough.’ She expected a lot from him, but never pushed him beyond what could be comfortably done in a day. Besides, Sōsuke found he enjoyed the work of repairing and replacing the thatch on the roof, chasing the mice from the cupboards, and pulling weeds from between the paving stones. It was simple and rewarding. The sun and the dry prairie air felt good on his face.

Mostly, he was able to forget about the manacles on his wrists.

This day, he’d spent the day in the garden, pulling weeds. A heavy rain had rolled through the night before and dirt clung to his sweating skin, some of it slipping between flesh and steel. No matter how often or how deeply he dipped his hands in the bucket, he couldn’t seem to wash away the grit from underneath the cuffs. 

He could feel it rubbing his skin raw. 

Onigawa was sitting in her favorite spot on the porch, smoking and drinking tea. She liked to watch the road. She told him that soon, when the leaves on the mountains began to turn, there would be a lot of people passing this way. 

She’d taken to wearing the key to his restraints on a loop around her neck. It looked like a piece of jewelry, the colored-bands glimmering and shifting like light on a precious stone. He stood in front of her, uncertain how to ask for what he needed. 

She glanced up at him. “Damn, boy. Are you finished already?”

“Mostly, but….” Sōsuke decided it was maybe best to just blurt it all out, “I got some dirt or something under these,” he held up his wrists to show her. “It itches like crazy. Do you think you could take them off for me so I can wash it out?”

She listened to him, but then took a long drag on her pipe. “I don’t know about that, Sōsuke.”

Ah, she couldn’t trust him. This was about the incident. Kyōraku, no doubt, had told her about the boy he’d tried to pass off as himself. 

She smiled up at him then, squinting into the sun. “I take both those off, you’d level the whole fucking house, wouldn’t you?” Tapping out her pipe she stood up. She wiped her hands on her hakama. “Right, then, boyo. I’d better teach you how not to do that.” 

Did she mean to let him take them off? Was he being trusted?

When he stood there, frozen and dumbstruck, she called over her shoulder, “What are you waiting for? Get over here by this wash bucket!”

He scrambled over to where Onigawa stood by the garden shed. She’d taken the key off her neck. She dangled it in her fingers, smiling at him.

“Alright, before we do this, I’m going to make a Kidō barrier. It’s a long chant and things are going to get very dark and heavy, but don’t panic, okay, kiddo?”

Sōsuke nodded. He listened and watched in rapted fascination as she spoke strange words about dogs and thunder and ancient gods and… imprisonment. He didn’t like that word at all, but he held his breath. Darkness swirled around them, forming into walls. She told him it would be scary, so he tamped down the panic as he felt things close in solidly around him. Onigawa was trusting him; he would trust her.

Besides, the magic was amazing.

Sōsuke even liked the colour of it--a deep, dark purply black, or so it seemed to him, at any rate. 

The barrier blotted out the sun. The darkness inside would have been absolute, except somehow their own bodies seemed to glow faintly. Looking at the manacles in this light, they appeared like black holes, even darker than the Kidō. The light of his body seemed to be sucked into them. 

Onigawa gave him a look. “You doing alright? You ready to take them off?”

Sōsuke nodded. The bucket of water was there inside the barrier with them. “Please.”

In the Kido space, the lock made a flash of kaleidoscope of colours when it touched the manacle. As the steel dropped away, Sōsuke watched as light spread through his body growing brighter and brighter. 

It was… beautiful.

Quickly undoing the second one, Onigawa caught them both up in her hands. She dunked them in the bucket and started cleaning them with the sleeve of her shirt. “Make it quick,” she said, squinting against the light. “You’re going to break down the seals in a minute. I want these back on before then. Shunsui didn’t pay me enough to buy a whole damn new house.”

Sōsuke did as she asked. The water stung his raw skin. Was he going to have to wear those cuffs his whole life? “Sensei, Ukitake-dono told me you could teach me to control this. Was that a lie?”

He did not expect the slap. 

Onigawa stood stock still, her eyes wide, as if holding her breath anxiously. She watched him for several seconds. 

He watched her back, uncertain what was going on. 

When whatever she seemed to be expecting didn’t happen, she put her hands on her ample hip and jutted out a lip into a kind of irritated pout. “Listen, ya little brat, I’m working on it. You’re… a bigger problem than I’ve ever dealt with.”

“Bigger than…?” Ukitake had warned him not to speak of the god, so he trailed off. “Anyone?”

“Jushiro’s guest is a special case. They want to stay hidden.” She held out an open manacle. Reluctantly, Sōsuke placed his wrist inside. Before closing it, Onigawa frowned at his reddened skin. “I’ll step up my work. I didn’t know you were suffering like this. You’re so fucking stoic!” She closed the manacle with an irritated snap. “You need to tell me when you’re in pain.” 

Sōsuke honestly hadn’t noticed until today, but he nodded solemnly. “Yes, ma’am.”

When the second one closed around his wrist, everything went dark inside the barrier again. Looking over at Onigawa’s faint glow he had to ask, “Are you controlling your reiatsu now?”

“I am,” she smiled. “Wanna see?”

He very much did.

She was right. Hers wasn’t like his--though, Sōsuke had to admit that, even if it burned less brightly, her spiritual pressure felt more… mature somehow. It was a darker colour, like the barrier. There was something it swirled around just under the swell of her breasts that made its own black hole, as if she had a manacle of her own. But that didn’t make sense, did it? But, beyond that oddity, her reiatsu was beautiful and so… strong.

“I want that,” he said. “I want mine to be like yours.”

Onigawa dropped the barrier and cloaked her spiritual pressure in one gesture. The suddenness made Sōsuke gasp and feel a little unsteady on his feet. 

She gave him a big smile and tousled his hair. “Yeah. I wasn’t so sure before today. I gotta admit, I thought maybe you were like this because you were secretly volatile--all pent up with emotions that you were hiding, keeping under lock and key-- just waiting explode. But, no. Seems as though I can teach you, after all.”

Sōsuke rubbed his cheek. “The slap was a test?”

“No,” she admitted, turning to look at the garden. “That was me being pissed off at you for calling me out. And don’t you ever call Jushiro a liar again, either, you hear me?” She wagged a finger at him. When Sōsuke shook his head and promised he wouldn’t, Onigawa continued with a sigh. “But, I guess, it worked out. I’m impressed you kept your head. If you can handle that kind of shock without a flinch, I think I can advance you faster than I would dare on anyone else. That’d help, because I’ve been sitting here for two weeks trying to figure out how to get you where you need to be without killing you.”

Sōsuke’s eyebrows raised skeptically. “I thought you were just lazing around while I worked.”

“Well, that, too,” she laughed. “I still see weeds in the lettuce, kid. If you want dinner, I’d hop to, if I were you.”

Sōsuke turned back to his work, but he was smiling.

#

The first visitor arrived the morning after the first frost. 

Sōsuke woke to a knock on the door. He’d gotten so used to their solitude, he wasn’t sure what to do. At least until a rolled up sock hit him on the head and Onigawa muttered, “Open the damn door for them, Sōsuke. And then hurry up and make us some strong tea.”

He dressed quickly. He slid the door open with a bow and an apology. “Sorry for the delay. Please come in.”

When he came back up from his bow, he was being gawped at. A sturdy, middle aged man stood on the porch. His clothes were simple, but well cared for. There were patches at elbows and knees. He already had his sandals off and his feet were bare. Dirt seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the crevices of his sun worn face. “Where’s Onigawa-sensei?”

“Just inside,” Sōsuke assured the man. 

“You’re letting in the cold!” Onigawa shouted from inside. “Get in or do your business elsewhere.”

The man chuckled at that. “As if there’s another Kidō Master anywhere in the Rukongai!” Giving Sōsuke a curious once-over before stepping over the threshold. “Where on earth did you find yourself a slave, Sensei?”

Sōsuke stepped back at that, trying to cover the manacles with his sleeves. He glanced at Onigawa, wondering how she would explain him. 

Her lips went thin and she avoided making eye contact, as she shrugged. To the man, she said, “What’s your business?” 

Onigawa was going to let people believe he was her slave?

Sōsuke went to the kitchen to prepare the tea and tried not to be angry. As he gathered the tea things, he told himself Onigawa didn’t have many options. If she told people that he was a student, they’d ask about the manacles. It was possible she was trying to save him the embarrassment of his ‘criminal’ past… or possibly even protect him from whomever had dumped him in the Maggot’s Nest to begin with. 

Or those who might want him back in prison.

Word would spread about an apprentice in a way it would _not_ about a slave. 

Knowing all of this however didn’t stop Sōsuke from feeling… mistreated. 

He pumped the water for the kettle with vigor. Part of him wanted to stomp into the main room, throw everything at Onigawa and her guest and show off Hadō 31, Shakkahō--which he’d only just perfected control of yesterday--by blowing a giant hole in the roof.

But, what would that gain him? It would feel great, temporarily, but it would only serve to make Onigawa angry. 

Besides, he’d already spent too much time personally repairing that stupid roof. 

With a deep breath, Sōsuke decided to play along. He wasn’t sure how to pretend to be a slave, but he imagined it must be not unlike his prison days: keep your mouth shut, eyes down, try not to be noticed, stay out of the way, and follow any orders.

He hated going back to all of that, but he could do it. 

At least this was pretend. There was no real fear of anything more than a playful smack on the head here. Sōsuke knew the truth: Onigawa was his teacher, not his owner. What did it really matter what other people thought of him? Sōsuke would likely never see this man again.

With that, Sōsuke slid open the door. Onigawa and her customer were in deep negotiation. He quietly set the kettle to boil and unobtrusively set out saucers and tea bowls.

Then, he picked a spot where he would not be seen or in the way and settled into seiza. Folding his hands on his lap, he bowed his head.

And listened.

“Can you bring her here? Is she close? You know I can’t travel far.” 

Onigawa couldn’t travel? This was news. Was she lame in some way he had never noticed? Maybe that dark spot in her reiatsu was somehow to blame? Did it suck her energy somehow?

The customer hemmed and hawed a bit, but finally said, “Well, I suppose if you were to loan me your slave, we could fashion a way to carry her here.”

Sōsuke could feel Onigawa’s attention on him. “Mmm, I guess that would be all right. But, don’t you try to steal him for yourself! Those manacles of his are Kidō. If he strays too far from me, he’ll be useless to you.”

A lie? Surely, that wasn’t true.

“Ugh! I don’t want your damn slave,” the customer said. “I just need you to fix a lame heifer!!”

#

The animal had apparently fallen into a ravine on the narrow mountain path and broken something in her back legs. Luckily, she was little more than a calf, but she was clearly in a terrible amount of pain. Her bellows were heartwrenching. 

Did they really mean to drag her all the way back to Onigawa’s cottage like this? Moreover, could they really lift her out of the ravine, when she was so panicked? Surely, they’d only cause her to injure herself more.

Sōsuke had no skills in healing, but, while cleaning and organizing Onigawa’s bookshelves, he had read about several sleep spells. 

Would they work on an animal?

“I could try putting her to sleep,” Sōsuke offered as the customer consulted with his traveling companions about the best course of action. Asleep, it would be a simple matter to sling the poor thing over his shoulders. She would be heavy, but she was nowhere near the size of a grown cow. It could be done.

The customer stared at Sōsuke for a second and then scoffed. “Sure, knock yourself out.”

“Hopefully, just the calf,” Sōsuke said. “It would be awkward if this worked, but only on me.”

Hakufuku was a complex spell, but Sōsuke trusted his memory. His biggest concern was that it might require more focus and energy than Shakkahō. He didn’t know how much extra the manacles would allow him; they’d made his progress towards Hadō 33 slow and painful. Sōsuke discovered that if he tried to overload these manacles, they tightened and grew hot to the touch. 

He couldn’t take the raw sound of the calf’s agony any longer. 

Sliding down into the ravine to crouch as near to the calf as he dared, Sōsuke began reciting the spell. When he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could easily visualize the parchment it had been written on. Someone had written notations over the kana, little marks to indicate on which words or syllables spiritual power should be infused. 

Sōsuke could feel the manacles squeezing his wrists when he was only half way through the chant. 

He would’ve stopped, but he could _smell_ that the spell was working. The unseasonable and unmistakable scent of cherry blossoms filled the air. The notes had mentioned this! He was on the right track!

More importantly, the calf was hushing.

Sōsuke knew that the manacles would return to normal once he stopped pushing. All he had to do was endure the pain a little longer. The skin under the manacles felt like it was on fire, but there were only five more words. One more burst...

There, finally. 

Sōsuke opened his eyes. The calf and three of the customer’s travelling companions were sound asleep. The customer’s eyes were wide. Sōsuke held his breath, but the customer let out a low, appreciative whistle. “I hope that old witch paid a good price for you, boy. You’re worth twice your weight in gold. I get why she thought we might try to abscond with you now. I tell you, I am tempted, son. Very tempted.”

With a self-satisfied smile, Sōsuke heaved the sleeping calf over his shoulders and made his way, carefully, up the ravine.

#

Onigawa was furious, Sōsuke could tell. But, she kept her anger at him under wraps until she was profusely thanked for the healing spell and paid in cured meats, dried beans, and a full basket of fresh fruit.

Sōsuke was ready for the slap this time.

“What the fuck, Sōsuke! Look at your wrists! How far were you going to push yourself?! If you break your bones next time, don’t think I’m going to heal them right away! And, god damn it, boy! When did you start helping yourself to my reading material?”

“You leave your books open on the floor, Sensei. Ukitake-dono told you I could read.”

She looked ready to hit him again. “Stop smirking! You’re supposed to apologize!”

He bowed deeply, but he couldn’t stop smiling. 

While he was bowed, she smacked his head again for good measure, but not with any kind of real force. Her anger was clearly fading into general annoyance. She let out a long sigh. “The only real problem is how much extra business this is going to generate.”

“You’re not worried about what people will say?”

She shrugged. Settling down in her favorite spot on the porch, she took out her pipe. While she stuffed and lit it, Sōsuke sat himself down on the nearby step. They both looked out at the mountain and the sun beginning to drop behind it. 

Taking an apple from the basket, Onigawa tossed it to Sōsuke. “You’ve probably guessed that it could be a hassle if anyone figures out that you’re actually my student. I’m supposed to be retired. The Gotei only let that happen because I swore I’d give up the practice completely and that old coot of a Head Captain owed me one. But then Jushiro came to me with his problem, and I’ve always been shit at telling people no.” She gave Sōsuke a little side glance and let out another deep sigh. “Especially people in real trouble.”

“Real trouble” apparently included everything from sick animals to hidden gods. 

Sōsuke watched the smoke curl from her mouth as she thoughtfully drew on her pipe. HIs proud smile finally started to fade. She seemed relaxed, but what she said made is sound like teaching him might be against the law. Had his use of the spell put them in real jeopardy? Would soldiers come for them now? “Do we need to leave?”

“What are you yammering on about, boy?” Onigawa said, poking him with her bare toe, like she did. “I can’t leave. Anyway, there’s a reason I let that guy believe you were a slave. People will just figure I got lucky. Some parts of the deep, butt-ends of the Rukongai have their own magic. Some foreigners, too.”

“Oh.” Sōsuke hadn’t known that. 

“I suppose I _will_ have to set up better wards,” she let out a thin puff of smoke. “People might actually try to steal you now.”

So she _had_ lied about the cuffs. He was glad to hear that.

He munched on the apple as the sky grew dark. His shoulders ached and his wrists had begun to throb, but Sōsuke still felt good. Today had been the first time his power had accomplished something positive. His reiatsu had made it possible to rescue the calf. It wasn’t all bad. 

Apparently, it was still something he must hide and learn to control, but, fundamentally, they were wrong about him. He wasn’t a danger to society.

Or at least he didn’t _have_ to be.

#

By the time the snow started to fall, their cottage was stocked full of provisions. Onigawa had even taught Sōsuke a minor healing spell.

As rewarding it might be, Sōsuke found healing to be a zero sum game. Healing pulled on deep reiatsu reserves and the manacles throttled those efforts quite effectively--if he tried to heal anything bigger than a chicken, he’d end up in need of healing himself. He’d gone so far as to break a wrist at least once, trying to push past the limitation.

As the days grew shorter, so did Onigawa’s patience with him.

“Why can’t you accept that this is as far as we can go right now?” she snapped, after discovering Sōsuke attempting a higher-level Bakudō binding spell on a runaway chicken and ending up with singed skin and a very angry bird. “You’re done with Kidō. I’ve told you, you can read all you like, but you have to stop!”

She was holding his hands, healing the damage the manacles had done. Sōsuke jerked his arms away forcibly. “I could do all of it, if you would just take these chains off me!”

“You’ve learned more in three months than a Kidō Academy student would learn in two years! Be satisfied with what you have.”

How could he be? 

“I can feel it, Sensei,” Sōsuke said, looking at the pink line of the burn at the edge of the cuff. “Just underneath these. It’s ready. I’m ready!”

“For what?” Onigawa shouted. “What do you need Hadō 99 for? There’s no enemies here! Only chickens!”

“It goes to 99?” Onigawa’s meager collection of books and parchments stopped somewhere in the fifties. Sōsuke’s heart beat fast to think that there might be that much more for him, somewhere. 

“It goes well beyond that,” she grimaced. She punctuated each word with a poke in Sōsuke’s chest: “But, you. Don’t. Need. Any of it.”

Perhaps that was true. He didn’t _need_ it, but Sōsuke wanted it.

Very badly.

#

Winter came hard to the plains.

Snow piled around the small cottage, closing them in. 

Onigawa slept more and more, leaving Sōsuke care for everything and to rattle around their cramped living space, virtually alone. When she was awake, Onigawa only wanted food and… sake. She would drink until she fell back asleep, leaving him to cope entirely on his own.

Sōsuke was barely coping.

They had lost one chicken to a hungry fox. Severe cold had nearly cost them the rest until he figured out how to keep the embers in the irori banked in such a way that the heat would last the night. There had been frozen water pipes, frost-damaged vegetables in the cellars, and snow so high it had taken him days to clear a path to the main road. 

Even when he shook her awake, demanding help, all she would give him was a bit of mumbled, drunken advice.

How had she survived before she had him? Her... slave.

Sōsuke hadn’t had much time to harbor many resentments, but today he’d been awakened to the aftermath yet another terrible storm. A huge build-up of ice had shattered several roof tiles on the chicken coop. As he repaired it, he’d had to let the chickens warm up in the kitchen--which… in retrospect, he should have known would lead to the mess they caused. They were now short half a bag of rice, too. Then, after cleaning all that up, he hadn’t been able to find his longer gloves when he went out to clear the pathway. He should have kept looking, because now the manacles stung from the deep cold.

Sōsuke sat by the fire, miserably, trying to warm his stiff fingers. The ache from the ice cold manacles, however, wouldn’t leave him. It felt bone deep.

When Onigawa rolled over in her sleep, the firelight caught on the key she wore on her neck, catching Sōsuke’s attention. 

He just wanted the cuffs off for five minutes. Just long enough to rub some life back into his limbs before he had to start making breakfast. 

He could try to wake her. She’d said that if he were in pain, he should tell her. 

He went over to her futon, doubtful he’d be able to rouse her. Last night, in the middle of the storm, she’d stumbled past him to use the chamber pot. He’d heard her pull another bottle of sake from storage. She was still curled up next to the empty.

“Sensei?” he shook her shoulder, hard, but she just batted at his hand and smacked her lips. Her breath smelled foul. As did the rest of her. How long did she intend to go on like this? “Sensei?!”

It was no use. He got up and got a small knife from the kitchen. It would be easier to cut the string than to try to tug it over her head. 

Like everything today, it turned out that bringing a knife to Onigawa’s throat was a grave miscalculation.

The first burst of reiatsu pushed him halfway across the room and knocked him flat onto his back. 

The second had him pinned to the floor with ‘crawling rope.’

She stumbled to her feet and kicked the knife from his hand. It skittered across the tatami. Her eyes were wild as she stared down at him. “How long have you been biding your time to do that, boy?”

“I just wanted the key,” Sōsuke said. He knew better than to push against crawling rope. He’d seen what happened to the chicken when it struggled. “I couldn’t wake you. My wrists are frozen.”

“Bullshit!”

She didn’t believe him.

After all this time--after all this work he had done to keep them both alive--she still thought him the sort of criminal that would kill her while she slept.

It didn’t even make any sense.

Why on earth would he kill her _now_ , in the dead of winter?

“I told you. I just wanted the key,” he insisted. Her suspicious, terrified expression exasperated him. He broke a little. Before he could stop himself, he was saying: “What would I gain by killing you? And slitting your throat? That’s the worst possible choice. Blood would spatter everywhere and I just washed this floor. Moreover, all I’d have for my efforts was corpse that I couldn’t decently dispose of until spring. Sure, I’d have more food for myself, which I suppose that might be worth murdering you for, especially since those _stupid chickens_ just gobbled up a quarter of our supplies. But, it’s far less of a hassle to continue to step over you. An extra helping of bean soup isn’t worth the mess you’d make, much less the trouble of having to explain to any visitors in the spring why I buried you in the compost pile.”

The way she watched him through his entire rant made Sōsuke very, very aware that today was _not_ a good day.

“Yeah, I shoulda known something was wrong with you when you didn’t go ballistic when I gave you that first slap.”

Wait. He’d thought that reaction had been a good one. She’d started teaching him after that! His heart thudded slowly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re not normal.” She continued to stand over him. The flickering glow of the crawling rope spell sent shadows dancing on the wall. “For fuck’s sake, Sōsuke, at least give me a proper burial!”

“But, the compost warms itself. It’ll be the softest ground, earliest in the spring. Your corpse would start to smell.”

“That’s not what you’re supposed to say, kid,” Onigawa gave him a funny look then--like she stopped being angry at him and was more bemused. That seemed to be confirmed when, with a snap of her fingers, the ropes vanished. “Cripes. I’m gonna need to teach you more than Kidō.”

After she stepped away from him, Sōsuke pulled himself up off the floor, slowly, warily. 

Onigawa settled down next to the fire pit. Taking one of the pokers from its place, she prodded the embers to life. “Jushiro is too kind-hearted. It’s not practical to expect that growing up in that place didn’t affect you.”

The Maggot’s Nest.

Sōsuke stayed where he was, not moving any closer to her or the warmth of the fire. Pulling his knees to his chest, he hugged them.

“I should probably get you some novels,” she glanced up at him. “You could read them in the winter, study ‘em--you know, so you can figure out how to behave in expected ways. Like a normal person.”

“I could get more practical experience if you’d let me out of these,” Sōsuke raised his wrist to her again. They were still cold, but the numbness had faded. “People don’t talk much to slaves.”

“Those are gonna have to stay. I told you why!”

“Yes, so people don’t mistake me for your student,” Sōsuke said quietly. “But, I’m not your student any more. You’ve stopped teaching me. Why? I was learning too fast? Isn’t that normally the sign of a good student?”

Her expression softened at that. “You’re an amazing student, Sōsuke, especially given your handicap. But you’re too obsessive. I told you, there’s no point in knowing more than what you already do--not at your age, and not out here. What are you going to do? Drop Hadō 90 on the chickens?”

“Today? With pleasure.”

She laughed heartily at that, surprising him. “I take it something happened with the chickens? Please tell me you didn’t nearly choke one to death with crawling rope again.”

“No, although I’m quite certain they deserve whatever torture Hadō 90 is.” When she continued to look at him with a curious half-smile, he explained: “They pooped all over the floor and ate our rice. I had to put them somewhere while I fixed the coop. The kitchen was a mistake, but that occurred to me too late. At least they only ate the rice meant for them. I only had it out because I was going to feed it to them later. How you slept through all the banging and my cursing, I don’t know.”

Onigawa looked chagrined and poked at the fire. “I hate winter. I normally try to sleep through the whole thing.”

“That would be fine if you didn’t have chickens.”

She laughed again. “But now I have you.”

He knew he should smile at that, since it was clearly meant as a gentle tease, but he had trouble conjuring the right face. 

She’d confirmed something he’d been suspecting for some time--she had no intention of teaching him what he needed, because she had no intention of removing the manacles any time soon.

Moreover, she thought him unworthy, broken in someway.

A monster.

#

Knowing his fate made it _slightly_ easier to bear.

Sōsuke began biding his time in earnest, however. What opportunity he was waiting on, he wasn’t certain. But, when he came upon it, he would seize it. 

Slowly, winter released its iron grip on the plains. The days lengthened. The chickens began to roost. 

Onigawa roused.

As soon as it was warm enough to slide away the wall that opened onto the porch, she returned to her favorite spot to sit and smoke. She accepted tea and watched without comment as Sōsuke cleaned up the empty sake bottles, rinsed them, and stored them away. 

“The brewer will arrive in early spring. Could be any day now,” she said. “Do we have anything left to pay him with?”

“We’ll have eggs.” Sōsuke noted, as he rolled up her futon. Gathering up her sheets, he put them in the basket for washing. The river was flowing freely again. He could wash a lot more at once now and the outside air no longer froze everything on the line.

“Mmm, he might take cash. I have plenty of that yet.”

The payments from Kyōraku had stopped coming in the deepest part of winter. Now that the roads were fully open, the courier would return. Apparently, along with the brewer. “Will other merchants come? We dangerously low on rice. The chickens are greedier now that they’re producing again.” 

Soon they could be let loose in the garden to eat bugs, but the ground was still too solid. Nothing grew yet. 

“I’ll send you to the village.”

Sōsuke had only ever heard travellers talk of the village. It was nestled against the mountainside, a day’s journey to the south. The village was the destination of a lot of their customers, apparently being big enough to have an ironworker and a flour mill. Sōsuke had been fascinated by the stories customer’s told of noodle shops and markets and festivals, and he had wanted to see it for himself, someday. 

But, did she really mean to send him alone? 

“What about you?”

“I can’t travel that far,” she said.

This was the second time she’d said something like this. “Are you unwell?”

Onigawa shook her head. “It’s part of the agreement I made with the Gotei.”

It was unclear to him if she was merely forbidden by a promise or if something would physically stop her from straying too far afield. Sōsuke decided it all worked to his advantage, regardless. “I’ll make a list of what we need. You can tell me what we can afford.”

#

He left at dawn, two days later, with instructions to follow the main road to the mountain path. He would take that path to the south. If he kept a good pace, he should arrive by nightfall. He would spend the night at the temple and make his way back the next day with their supplies.

Along with the list of what was needed, Sōsuke had a sealed letter to hand over to the magistrates should he get any hassle for being without her. Onigawa assured him that he was well-known to enough villagers that he wouldn’t likely need it.

Sōsuke wasn’t sure he much cared for the fact that so many people already marked him as her property. He also wasn’t comforted at all by the fact that she wouldn’t tell him what the punishment was for a runaway slave. She gave him a funny little grimace and tousled his hair, “Just hurry back.”

Even so, Sōsuke set out with a light heart. After months and months trapped in the tiny cottage, independence felt like a godsend. Never had the sun shone so brightly or the air smelled so sweet.

The wide main road was easy walking. It followed alongside the stream that Sōsuke used for washing. With the ice gone, the water gurgled pleasantly, swelled from the snow run-off from the mountain. The closer he came to the mountain, the more the main road undulated and twisted as he moved into the foothills. 

He made the mountain path by mid-morning. He’d journeyed this far from the cottage only twice before. The first time being his arrival, now some six months in the past, and the day he helped a customer rescue a calf. 

That seemed like a lifetime ago.

The mountain forest amazed him. Though there were only hints of the swell of buds on the trees, everything felt more lively. Wrens flitted among the branches, wild mushrooms sprouted in the damp underbrush, and chipmunks chirped angrily as Sōsuke passed along the narrow road.

Patches of snow clung stubbornly to the shady mountainside. The air was much colder here and Sōsuke adjusted his scarf more firmly up around his ears. 

One thing he hoped to have leftover money for was fabric remnants. Sometime over the winter, his pants had shrunk. He’d been able to let out the hems to gain a half inch or so, but somehow they still rode halfway up his calves. Entirely new pants would be far too expensive, but surely someone would sell him enough leftover cloth to extend the life of these for another few months. Otherwise, he might have to cannibalize the scarf, and he’d hate to lose it. Scarves were surprisingly useful.

He wasn’t sure what he would do when he outgrew his clothes completely. Perhaps he could wear some of Onigawa’s cast-offs. 

When he had been replacing linens, Sōsuke had discovered Onigawa’s Kidō Corps uniform. It was carefully pressed and preserved in stiffly wrapped paper, hidden deep in her closets. Sōsuke had never seen such a quantity brightly dyed silk in his life. It was gorgeously trimmed in a glittering golden threads, as well. He’d tried it on, of course. The cape had been especially entrancing, he’d twirled and twirled just to watch the fabric swirling around him. He could have worn the cape forever, but he’d very carefully replaced it, being sure to re-iron the folds and return it to its hiding place, just exactly as he had found it.

Onigawa never spoke of her time in the Kidō Corps, however, other than to constantly remind him that she was _meant_ to be retired.

Sōsuke couldn’t understand why anyone would leave that life for one filled with thatched roofs and chickens.

By sunset, Sōsuke could see the lights of the city. He had hoped to arrive before darkness, but a mudslide had obscured part of the road and he’d had to follow a deertrail in order to detour around it. Coming back that way, loaded down with supplies, was going to be daunting. 

The temple, at least, was on the outskirts of town. 

Onigawa told him that he could beg a meal and lodgings at the temple’s gate, but Sōsuke had no idea how such a thing was done. He found the gate and passed through it, unimpeded. He paused, wondering if he should wait to be greeted. The structure ahead looked massive. Even in the twilight, Sōsuke could see elegantly carved, curving roofs. Surely something so rich and fine had guards?

Lanterns lined a pathway toward the main structure, so Sōsuke followed it. 

A voice called out to him, “Meals are served in the lecture hall. If you hurry, you can still make it.”

Sōsuke turned towards the direction the voice had come from, quickening his pace. Into the lantern light stepped a strange figure. Voluminous white silks that obscured feet made it seem as though this creature glided out from the garden. Its head was completely obscured by a reed basket. At first Sōsuke wondered if he were being visited by the god of this place, but as it approached, he could see human hands under the sleeves.

Was this a monk?

The figure stopped short, as though in surprise, and seemed to be observing Sōsuke carefully. “What have we here?”

Ah. The manacles. 

What should he say? Was it better to deny that he was a runaway instantly or would such a claim make him seem all the more guilty? It felt too soon to produce Onigawa’s letter, though perhaps he should?

Before he could decide, the monk’s gaze seemed to shift to Sōsuke’s face. “Ah, no matter. You must be hungry. Will you be staying the night or…” There was something very circumspect in the pause. “Are we providing a more permanent ...sanctuary?”

“Just the night, sir,” Sōsuke said with a hasty bow. It was probably wisest to say nothing more, but that second offer made him deeply curious. “Wouldn’t it be dangerous? Why would you risk…” Sōsuke wasn’t sure what exactly was at risk for harboring a fugitive, but it seemed like it must be a lot, “...all that for a stranger?”

The monk lifted a shoulder. “We can always use more kitchen staff.”

They had turned from the main lighted path. In the distance, he could see a lively, open-air structure. Lanterns hung from eaves and the noise of utensils and conversation drifted through the garden. 

The monk asked, “Have you been given a name?”

“Aizen Sōsuke.”

“Oh?” The monk sounded slightly surprised. “Even a surname? Does it belong to your… household?”

Sōsuke shook his head. Honestly, he had no idea how he’d come by either name. “Onigawa is my master.” It galled him to say that word, but Sōsuke told himself that a student would use such a term to describe a teacher.

“Mmmmm,” the sound the monk made was somewhat disapproving. “They call me Komusō, though that’s just my order.” He pointed to the bucket over his face, “We disavow the ‘ego,’ the self.” He seemed to look at Sōsuke’s manacles again for a long moment. “I’m disappointed in Onigawa. We’d been led to believe she was a more upright person. 

Sōsuke had nothing to say to that. He, too, had been led to believe many things of Onigawa that had proved untrue. For instance, he’d yet to have any of the “fun” Ukitake-dono had promised.

The monk gestured at an empty spot at the end of a long table. He went to join the other monks at a table near the front of the hall, though he seemed to be the only one wearing a bucket.

The people at Sōsuke’s table all eyed him curiously. From their clothing and the bags at their sides, they all seemed to be travellers, like himself. He seemed to have missed some first course--a soup of some kind--but he settled himself down anxiously. Something on the breeze smelled quite delicious.

When the food arrived, Sōsuke joined the others as they said grace over the food. Onigawa had taught him the phrase, though it seemed her version was much more casual. He took note of the proper pronunciation. 

In front of him was a small bowl filled with a strange gelatinous square of something white and possibly curdled. But, everyone else seemed to be eating it, so Sōsuke tried it. It was so… silky. Some kind of citrus-pepper flakes garnished the top, which popped in his mouth. “What is this amazing dish?”

His table-neighbor gave him a funny look. “Gomadofu.”

Sōsuke’s brain parsed the words easily enough: sesame tofu. He’d eaten a lot of tofu in his life, or so he’d thought. They had stores of dried tofu and tofu skins at Onigawa’s cottage. It went into nearly everything--and would continue to, until the chickens grew too old to lay. Tofu, in Sōsuke’s mind, was brown and much chewier than this. This ‘gomadofu’ melted in his mouth.

This must be the difference between dried and fresh.

He ate his greedily. 

“Are you a foreigner?” One of his tablemates asked. She was a middle-aged woman, with a faded scar that slashed diagonally across her nose. She looked pointedly at the cuffs. “Is your homeland very far away?”

What was he to say to that? Taking in a breath, he opted for the truth. “I have no idea of where I was born. My earliest memories are of bars and locks.”

There were sad and pitying looks exchanged around the table. 

Sōsuke ignored them, he was far more interested to see the next set of plates being brought out. When he enthused about how delicious he’d found the tofu, the server dipped his head in several happy bows. Sōsuke blinked in surprise. 

No one ever bowed to him. 

In fact, this was the first he could remember being served, instead of serving.

Was this all right?

The woman must have seen something in his expression, or the way he still held the bowl of rice and tea like he was no longer sure he should be allowed to have it--because she gave his thigh a little maternal pat. “The monks treat everyone the same.”

Sōsuke looked around the room in wonderment. What was this place? 

He would beg to live here forever, if even a single one of the monks had even a glimmer of reiatsu.

#

In the morning Sōsuke woke to a new revelation: reiatsu wasn’t completely absent from this place.

In fact, a deep, unified hum of it woke him up. It was an odd sensation--reverberating against Sōsuke’s chest like the deep thrum of a bass drum. It repeated every few seconds. 

Quickly stowing his bed roll in the place it had come from, Sōsuke followed this odd sensation to the garden. Two rows of monks sat seiza. They didn’t move at all, but they were clearly deep in an exercise of some sort--a kind of morning stretch of their spiritual pressure.

The deep resonate boom Sōsuke had felt came with each breath they let out.

With each breath in, the sensation retracted.

Sitting a respectful distance away on the covered porch, Sōsuke tried to mimic them. Out, he could do with ease. In, he found “in” far more troublesome. This inwardness was a practice he’d never been taught. After several frustrated attempts, he closed his eyes and tried to use his own reiatsu to sense how they might be doing the drawing-in trick.

“Or you could just try breathing.”

The voice startled him. Sōsuke opened his eyes to the monk with the basket-weave mask, Komusō. “No offense, sir, but I’m pretty sure I know how to breathe since it’s a required habit. It’s this other bit--”

“No, son, try _breathing_.” The monk sat down beside him. “Intentionally. Mindfully.”

Sōsuke couldn’t entirely see the point of it, but he had no better idea of what to do. He closed his eyes and tried to think about breathing, which, of course, make him forget entirely how it was normally done. 

The monk laughed kindly.

“With me,” he said. “In--one, two, three. Hold. Now out, one, two, three.”

When Sōsuke pushed out reiatsu with his breath, Komusō rapped him on the head. 

“ _Just_ breathe. The rest will come.”

Sōsuke wasn’t sure he believed the monk, but he did as he was told. In and out, on and on. Breathing. Just taking in air and letting it out. Going about the business of breathing. Thinking about nothing but breathing--or trying to, but his mind wouldn’t stay on task. The sounds of the garden merged and drifted into the comforting pulse of the monks in the yard. Their collective thrum brushed against him like a wave washing against the shore. He drew in and out with them, lulled by the rhythm and simplicity.

“It’s criminal if Onigawa isn’t teaching you.”

It felt like the monk’s voice jerked him from a pleasant dream. Yet, somehow, despite feeling disoriented, Sōsuke managed to keep his wits about him and didn’t entirely spill their secret. “It’s apparently a crime if she does.”

“Ah, yes, the ‘retirement.’”

The way Komusō said ‘retirement’ seemed weighted, but with what Sōsuke had no idea. 

“Or do you mean these?” he tapped one of the manacles at Sōsuke’s wrist.

Again, having no better lie, Sōsuke opted for the truth. “They’re certainly a big barrier, sir.”

“Indeed. Well, _someone_ should teach you,” Komusō said as though deciding something. He stood up suddenly, wiping his hands on his robes. “I think I’m going to go make Onigawa an offer she can’t refuse.”

#

Sōsuke spent an anxious morning gathering supplies in the marketplace. He didn’t want to be too far behind the monk, who had left for Onigawa’s almost immediately after his strange pronouncement. Sōsuke desperately wanted to follow after Komusō immediately, find out what he meant to do, but he couldn’t leave without the rice.

For that matter, nothing on his list could be done without. 

In his hurry, Sōsuke almost got in trouble over a bag of dried noodles. The woman behind the counter gave him a once over, held out her hand and said, “That will be 400 ken.”

He’d already counted out the proper amount. “No, 250. Your sign says 5 for 50. I have five, at 50 each, that’s 250.”

“You can’t read. You certainly can’t read Kanji,” she scoffed. “You think you’re clever, making that up to rip me off.”

He could read quite a bit of Kanji, but that wasn’t the point. The numbers were right there, plain as day. “It’s not me that’s trying to cheat anyone.”

“Are you accusing me? You don’t know your place at all, do you, slave?”

Oh. Damn it, of course. 

But… this wasn’t right! Did he really have to apologize for being… right? 

Would he have to pay her? Her price was outrageously more expensive! If he gave her the extra 150, that was that much less he’d have for the rest of the things they desperately needed! And, her sign was right there: it said 5 for 50, he was absolutely sure of it! He’d done the math right. He’d read the words correctly.

She was the one in the wrong!

But, he couldn’t fight this. She could have him dragged from here straight to the magistrates and he had no idea what happened after that, but it was bad enough that Onigawa had refused to tell him what it might be. 

Besides, even if the magistrates let him go with minimal trouble, he would be that much more delayed, that much further behind the monk.

He needed to bow his head and he needed to do it now.

Why couldn’t he just bend? Why was his body refusing him? Take the loss. Consider it a lesson.

But, it wasn’t _right_ and the lesson he’d learn was completely unacceptable.

So, instead, Sōsuke dropped the bags of noodles and ran out the door.

#

No one pursued him from the noodle shop and Sōsuke was able to get almost everything else they needed without hassle. He would just have to learn to make their own noodles with the buckwheat he’d bought instead. Turns out, the flour was far cheaper than the pre-made noodles and, with the money he’d saved, he’d had enough to get several good cloth remnants.

Loaded down as he was, the journey back was arduous and slow-going. 

When he saw the lights in the cottage still burning brightly, he was tempted to drop his load and run the rest of the way. But, these things were too precious to leave to the possibility of bandits or spoilage. As hard as it was, Sōsuke took the time and care to properly store everything before coming through into the main room. 

Onigawa and the monk sat opposite each other in front of the firepit, silently sipping sake.

Even though the scene looked pleasant enough, the atmosphere was tense.

“So, you came back?” Onigawa sounded both surprised and bitter. “I thought for sure this crazy monk had sweet talked you from my side.”

“The chickens would starve without the rice,” Sōsuke said plainly. 

Onigawa’s chuckle was dark. “See, he can’t leave. He loves those chickens.”

Sōsuke wasn’t sure if he should try to join them by the fire. There didn’t seem to be a place for him there, despite the fact that he was clearly the subject of their conversation. Standing while they sat seemed equally inappropriate, so he simply sank down into seiza where he stood, just inside the kitchen doorway.

Though it was difficult to tell, Komusō seemed to watch him as he dropped to his knees. “This isn’t right and you know it, Onigawa. Why you ever consented to buy another human being, I can’t fathom. You need to free him.”

She slammed back the sake in her bowl and shook her head. “Nope. Sorry. No can do.”

This was clearly an argument they’d been having for some time already. As much as he disliked the position Onigawa was taking, Sōsuke understood the need for it. He wasn’t actually hers to ‘free.’ Kyōraku had said this was a loan. If Sōsuke was the property of anyone, it was that man. 

Of course, too, there were all of the reasons they continued to let people believe he was a slave and not a student.

None of which would be a problem for Sōsuke, not really, if she would only teach him. 

“I wouldn’t leave even if freed,” Sōsuke said, surprised by how true that felt after he’d said it aloud. He was, at times, very angry with Onigawa, and he hated more and more with each passing day this horrible charade they played. But, he’d come to feel as though this cabin was as much his home as it was hers. He’d certainly put the work into its upkeep. “I just want to learn.”

Something in Onigawa’s entire posture… quivered. She poured herself another bowl of sake and slammed it back again, as though trying to find strength in it. “Fine,” she spat. “I’ve got my reasons for not letting him be freed yet, but… you can borrow him. I’ll send Sōsuke to the temple for a week each month--but not during planting or harvest! Ah, fuck--you might as well make up for any lost time by keeping him longer in the winter--so long as someone comes to make sure the damn chickens don’t die.”

“Or you,” Sōsuke added quietly.

The look she shot him at that was… vulnerable--almost too much so. She turned her face away quickly. 

Komusō seemed satisfied with the compromise. “You’ll be planting soon. I’ll expect him in two months.”

They stood up and bowed to each other formally. A deal had been struck.

As he gathered his things and headed for the door, the monk added, “If he doesn’t arrive at the proscribed time. I’ll come to you.”

“I don’t need no fucking monk sniffing around this place making me feel like some kind of sinner. I’ll send him. Don’t you worry.”

#

Despite what seemed like an ideal settlement, Onigawa continued to sulk. After they ate a dinner of the fresh foods Sōsuke had gotten from the market, Onigawa grabbed his sleeve before he could clear the dishes. 

She held on to him firmly. “Sit your ass down. We need to talk.”

Warily, Sōsuke settled back down. 

Letting go of him finally, she glared at him for several seconds before saying, “I know what you must think of me right now, but listen up: those manacles are staying on. I don’t care how much he teaches you.”

“But.. the only reason for them is to control my reiatsu. Once I have that under my own command--”

“No,” she said sharply. 

Sōsuke waited, his heart ticking in his throat. Had he been wrong about her? Did she really mean to keep him by force? When she offered nothing beyond more angry glares, he asked: “Why?”

“Because,” she snapped.

That wasn’t a real reason. It wasn’t even a full sentence. “I don’t understand. I still don’t understand why you never showed me how… the monks make it seem as though it isn’t such a terribly difficult thing to learn, after all. I thought maybe… but, no it seems as simple as breathing. This was the one skill I was promised you would teach me. You never even _tried_ ”

He caught her hand this time. He refused to accept the slap.

She yanked herself from his grip and surprised him by lashing out with her foot. He took a blow, hard, to the ribs. When he was gasping for breath, she stood up. “I have my reasons, and you’re just going to have to accept them. I’ve taught hundreds of students. I know what I’m doing.”

Sōsuke stayed bent, gripping his bruised side. “If you’re such a good teacher, why can’t you articulate these ‘reasons’? Haven’t I shown you that I would be understanding?”

“No, what you’ve shown is obsession. You want too much, too soon.”

She’d accused him of this before, but he still didn’t understand what he’d done to make her think that way. Was it because he would overload the manacles until they broke bones? “But, if you would only teach me, then I wouldn’t have to push the limits!”

“You can learn to operate inside the limits.”

“I... what?”

“You heard me, Sōsuke. The restriction is good for you. You need to learn to stay inside the lines. It will teach you control.”

Control. That was the first thing she’d said tonight that made any kind of sense to him. Had that been her plan all along? Had she been doing that thing she did--driving him to distraction by never being direct, hoping he would come to this understanding on his own?

With Onigawa it was impossible to know. 

But this, at least, was a real answer, a real goal. He pressed his head to the floor sincerely. “Yes. Thank you, Sensei.”

She seemed startled by his sudden change of tone, but she nodded. “Good. Now, why don’t you let me clean up for once? You must be exhausted.”


	2. A Storm of Shinigami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are troublesome visitors to Onigawa's cottage....

Spring came with a flurry of planting and so many fresh eggs. Sōsuke made sure to offer eggs to any merchant or client passing through. Most of them accepted happily. Today’s visitor was the first exception.

Today’s visitor was a shinigami.

#

Both Sōsuke and Onigawa felt the approach early in the morning.

Onigawa, who normally never rose before the sun, bolted upright. Sōsuke had already been awakened by a creeping sense that something large approached them from the north. He’d thought it was a nightmare. Sometimes he still dreamed of soldiers coming for him, while he cowered in a cave. Onigawa, however, started getting dressed. She looked at him, seemingly unsurprised to see him also awake, “What do you guess we have? An hour?”

“Is it a storm?”

She let out a snort. “A storm would be less trouble.”

Nearly exactly an hour later, they saw a black-silked figure shimmer into existence on the main road. At his curious look, Onigawa explained: “Shunpo, flash step.”

Sōsuke held his breath, but something Onigawa saw made her suddenly relax. With a big smile, she burst into a run with the shout of a name: “Yadōmaru!”

The two met on the road in a happy embrace. Sōsuke could see that the shinigami was a lady now, her dark short cropped hair a shadow in the breaking dawn. She was slightly shorter than Onigawa and built like a slender reed. 

They kissed for a long time.

So long, in fact, that Sōsuke grew bored watching them. He turned inside to make breakfast for three. 

When they finally made their way inside, he had prepared rolled omelettes, tamagoyaki. The sugar vendor had left him a recipe and, since they had so many eggs, Sōsuke practiced making them nearly every day. Onigawa was starting to complain that they were eating them too often, but it was the fanciest thing he knew to make for a guest. 

When the shinigami’s gaze lingered on Sōsuke, he expected the usual questions about the manacles. Instead, Yadōmaru said, “You must be Sōsuke. I have a present for you.”

From a satchel slung over her shoulder, she produced a carefully wrapped box. The paper was the color of the sea and had been printed or stamped with rows of tiny, leaping dolphins. Sōsuke guessed instantly, “From Ukitake-dono?”

Yadōmaru ruffled Sōsuke’s hair. “You really are the clever one!”

“Too clever by half,” Onigawa said, but she was smiling. 

Yadōmaru pulled out a thick envelope and handed it to Onigawa. “It should be everything, including the missing installments. Kyōraku-fukutaicho apologizes for the delay and hopes you weren’t inconvenienced. He promises to pre-pay half of the winter months next fall so you won’t end up short in the spring.”

“Thoughtful,” Onigawa said. Counting through the money quickly, she set the envelope on the tansu. “Not that I’m complaining about a chance to see you, but what happened to our usual courier?”

Sōsuke had put aside the gift and had begun setting out the tea bowls. Curious, he paused to listen. The usual courier was a spice merchant that bore the Kyōraku crest. He often lingered to gossip. 

“Ukitake-fukutaicho wanted to be sure this gift arrived before too long. I guess little Sōsuke here has a birthday soon?”

The end of May, or so he had been told.

It was early April. 

Onigawa came to the same conclusion that Sōsuke did. “They’re checking up on me, eh? Well then, take a good look. The kid’s doing fine.”

The shinigami gave Sōsuke a once over. “Not used to getting presents, though, are you, boy?” she laughed. “My nephew would have ripped through that paper by now.”

Sōsuke looked at where he’d set the present on the floor. The gift was more than the paper covered box? “But... it’s so beautiful.”

“The paper is just a wrapper. You’re supposed to open the box.” Yadōmaru said.

The tea forgotten, Sōsuke examined the box more carefully. Finding seams in the wrapping, he carefully pried them loose. Despite what she said, Sōsuke couldn’t imagine ripping up anything so fine. Once completely unfolded, he set the paper aside. He put the box in his lap and lifted the lid.

Oh! Inside were two books! 

The first was a collection of illustrated children’s stories. Sōsuke might have been disappointed by the subject matter, but he was excited to see furigana printed alongside Kanji characters. Once he worked through this, he should be able to read so much more. “Ah! This is amazing!” 

The second book appeared to be some kind of novel, an adventure story for boys. The kana in it was simpler, but the story seemed as though it would be more complex. He wanted to start reading immediately, but he put the books aside to see what else was inside the box.

There seemed to be sheets of the fine paper, though undecorated, a brush, and some ink. The note Ukitake-dono sent said, “For writing practice!” Sōsuke had never tried much writing before. It would be a fun challenge.

Scattered in the bottom were tins and bags filled with some sort of… food? In all honesty, they looked like small, multi-colored burs, like the kind that would stick to Sōsuke’s pant legs when he walked through the tall grasses.

Seeing those, Onigawa exclaimed, “Konpeito! Trust Jushiro to send candy.”

Not exactly knowing what ‘candy’ was, Sōsuke returned his attention to the books. Which one should he start with? They were both so exciting. He turned them over and over in his hands, flipping through the illustrations, and reading excerpts.

Yadōmaru made a little sound. “He goes for the books over the candy? You sure you’re treating this kid okay?”

“That’s just Sōsuke,” Onigawa said around a mouthful of eggs. “He’d save the books before the chickens if the house was on fire.”

“Chickens have legs,” Sōsuke murmured, his attention deep in the adventure novel, which he’d accidentally started reading already, “They’d run on their own. Books can’t save themselves.”

“See?” Onigawa chuckled.

Sōsuke let himself get lost in the novel while the two women talked. He only pulled himself from the pages when it was time to let the chickens into the garden and yank out any weeds threatening the tiny shoots. Any break he had, he pressed his nose back into book, impatient to find out what would happen next to the clever, dashing hero.

By dinner time, he’d finished the novel. He set it aside with a sigh full of satisfaction and regret. The story was over too fast, but at least it was complex enough to reread many times. As soon as he could write well, he would have to send a thank you note to Ukitake-dono.

As he prepared dinner, Sōsuke noticed that the lively chatter had turned to low murmurs. The evening air had turned chilly and the two women huddled close under one blanket. Sōsuke considered fetching a second one from storage until he saw that they’d started kissing again.

Quietly, he left their dinner plates near their feet and hauled his bedroll out onto the porch. Once settled outside, he slid the door closed between them. 

It would get cold under the open awning, but there hadn’t been frost in many weeks. His other option was sleeping with the chickens, which might be warmer, but it would be far less pleasant. Besides, sleeping where he could see the stars made Sōsuke feel a bit like the hero in his novel. With the wall between them, the noises the two women made could be the sound of the oni that the main character had so cleverly outwitted.

Though Sōsuke doubted oni ever giggled quite like that.

Despite such distractions, he slept well, dreaming of yokai and samurai.

#

The sun woke Sōsuke early. He decided that he wanted to savor the second book Ukitake sent him, and so, after quietly stowing his bedroll back in the closet of the main room, he started on his usual chores.

Sometime in late mid-morning the shinigami met him in the garden. “Oi, Sōsuke, come here for a second.” 

He’d been thinning the carrot seedlings. He tossed the culled sprouts into the compost pile on his way to where she stood, leaning against the chicken coop. She’d dressed, but bits of her hair stuck up around her head. She had the satchel she carried slung over one shoulder. Perhaps she was preparing to leave?

Yadōmaru held out her hands to him. “Let me see those cuffs of yours for a second.”

What would she gain by looking at them? But, given that she was here on Kyōraku-sama’s behalf, perhaps it was some kind of health check. The last time he and Onigawa had taken them off to wash underneath, he’d had to scrub away a layer of itchy dead skin. Even so, Sōsuke was a little wary as he set his wrists in her open palms.

The sudden surge of her reiatsu surprised him. Instinctively, he pulled back, but she held him firmly.

She sent out a series of pulses that seemed to grow in intensity. With the final push of energy, the manacles restricted slightly.

“Just like she said,” Yadōmaru said, letting him go. “How many times did you overload these things, kid?”

“A few.”

“Twenty-seven,” Yadōmaru corrected. “Onigawa’s report said you broke bones? More than once?”

It clearly wasn’t worth trying to fudge the truth. Yadōmaru knew the answers already. At least, he should have a chance to explain some part of his side of the situation. “On the sixth time, Onigawa-sensei refused to heal them for two whole days.”

It had been pure agony, but apparently that had been “the point.”

“And then you pushed it two more times _after_ that,” Yadōmaru said. “You’ve broken your wrists _eight_ times.”

Apparently so. “She stopped teaching me.”

“So you took it upon yourself to read ahead and try advanced Kidō on your own?”

It’d been an obvious solution given that Onigawa had refused to show him anything new. The shinigami clearly had some point to make, but none of her arguments were anything he and Onigawa hadn’t gone over already too many times to count.

“Damn. Look at you. Not even a flicker of remorse or shame,” Yadōmaru said with a little disappointed shake of her head. “What kind of arrogance does it take to think you know better than the former Kidō Commander what’s right for you? Did it ever occur to you that maybe Onigawa stopped teaching you when you stopped listening to her?”

Sōsuke had known they’d reached this impasse, though he hadn’t entirely considered it in these specific terms. He didn’t entirely understand how he’d failed to ‘listen.’ After all, he always paid full attention to any teaching and followed along very carefully. 

It suddenly struck him, however, that ‘stop’ might have been its own kind of instruction.

“Right, well, Kyōraku-fukutaicho told me I’d have to use my own judgement if the reports proved true,” Yadōmaru sighed. From her satchel she pulled out some kind metallic ribbons. “Bring yourself back over here, Sōsuke. Apparently, if I add these, they’ll absorb into what’s there and should repair the damage you’ve done to those cuffs and boost the dampening.’

She’d told him to step forward, but he took two steps back.

More restriction? Why was this happening? He’d have acted far more contrite if he’d known this was something more than a stern lecture.

“No,” he said. He continued to back away as she moved towards him, ribbons in hand. “Please don’t.”

He was starting to run when crawling rope snagged his ankle and slammed him to the ground. Onigawa stood at the backdoor. One hand was lifted to control the spell, she sucked on her pipe with the other. “You brought this on yourself, kid.”

#

Sōsuke spent the next two weeks in sullen silence.

The ribbons had worked just as threatened. They had absorbed into the manacles and made everything heavier and harder. The only trace left of them was a thin line of brighter material. He hated everything about them, but he was especially disgusted by the fact that, thanks to his struggling, Yadōmaru hadn’t been able to put them on in a straight line.

Thus, on top of all the other indiginities he’d been forced to bear, the lighter band on his right wrist was… _crooked_.

Thank all the gods he’d realized the futility of struggling by the time she got to the left one. 

At least, if the absorption continued to progress as previously, the maddeningly mismatched bands should completely fade in a few more weeks.

More importantly, the day had finally arrived for his first sojourn to the temple. He’d been packed for days. Not that he had much to bring, though he had been careful to include the box of paper, ink, and brush from Ukitake-dono. He didn’t know if the monks would consent to teach him anything about writing, but perhaps he would have time to try on his own. If not, everything would keep until the long winter months arrived again.

Sōsuke didn’t assume he’d necessarily have any extra free time. When they first met, the monk had said something about kitchen staff, after all.

But, he brought his books along as well.

As he left the house, Onigawa said: “Twenty ken says you’ll appreciate my teaching style a whole hell of lot more after spending even a week with those monks.”

“Deal,” Sōsuke said without hesitation, even though he had no money of his own to put up. After all, there was no way he’d lose this bet. Given his current level of hatred for Onigawa, the monks would have to beat him every single day from dawn until dusk before that happened.

“Maybe they’ll teach you some humility!”

He just gave her a backhanded wave as he walked away.

#

It was true that the monks appreciated humility.

However, Sōsuke found the occasional knuckle rap a far more direct and comprehensible teaching method. Also, there were no limits. Sōsuke was allowed to practice mediation as much as he liked. If he stayed up late into the night or rose extra early to continue working on it, the monks would smile at him and tell him they admired his “devotion.”

The kitchen work was identical to things he did at Onigawa’s--only with a lot more hands to do it all, the work took so much less time.

If there was anything troublesome at all about the temple, it _was_ that extra help--other people.

Sōsuke had gotten very used to being with just Onigawa. Despite everything, she was, herself, a lot like him in many ways. They both tended towards a serious or practical approach to most things. Moreover, they both happily kept their own counsel, enjoyed quiet solitude, and coveted alone time. 

Constant requests to set down his book and join ball games baffled Sōsuke. But, having learned the lesson of the shinigami, Sōsuke reluctantly pushed himself to act less driven and be more… ‘normal.’

He was, however, not very good at most sports.

He was sitting in the grass on the sidelines tonight, wishing he’d brought a book and pretending to take an active interest in which side had the ball. The basket-helmeted monk, Komusō, settled down beside him. “Not a big fan?”

“I was asked to step aside for a better player,” Sōsuke admitted. He would prefer, if he wasn’t going to have to play the entire game, that they just leave him out completely and let him join the monks in prayer or read in peace, but apparently that was considered unsociable. “For reasons known only to Taro, it’s very important to win this particular game.”

“It’s kitchen staff versus groundskeepers, I see.” Komusō noted, his attention drifting to the game play. “A long standing rivalry.”

Sōsuke had actually heard that, but he still had zero understanding as to why the outcome actually mattered. From what he could tell, they would only just play again soon enough. There was no prize for winning, beyond ‘bragging rights.’ The brag wasn’t even accurate. Being able to kick a ball didn’t make someone any better than anyone else in any way other than at ball-kicking. 

“You seem subdued this visit,” Komusō said. “Is everything alright? The kitchen staff hasn’t been… that is, no one has made you feel ‘less than,’ have they?

Sōsuke shook his head. There had been many awkward questions about the manacles on his first day, but it was clear that everyone in the kitchen had been pre-warned not to push him on the subject or to say the word ‘slave’ in front of him. He’d heard whispers, of course, but mostly they seemed to pity him. The head cook always slipped him extra helpings of food and gave him lighter duties most days. Everyone seemed, in fact, to be trying to treat him extra well, as though to make up for the hardships they imagined he suffered at Onigawa’s hands. “Everyone here has been extremely kind to me, sir.”

“What’s with the low energy, then? Are you… homesick?”

Sōsuke shrugged. The monk was likely noticing the new manacles' effect on his reiatsu, but Sōsuke knew better than to say that. “I’m not quite used to all of this--” he wasn’t sure how to describe the trouble he was having with all of the new social interactions and obligations, so he waved his hand at the ballgame. “--activity?”

Komusō let out a hearty laugh that reminded Sōsuke of Kyōraku-sama and patted Sōsuke’s back warmly. “The temple houses a lot of people. I suppose you were expecting a quiet, contemplative life?”

He hadn’t entirely, though it would have been welcome.

Komusō tousled Sōsuke’s hair. “You’ll have to join the order if you want that. That’s a big commitment… especially for you.”

Because it would mean becoming a ‘fugitive,’ or so everyone believed. 

This was the second time this refuge had been obliquely offered. Sōsuke still didn’t understand why anyone would risk the wrath of the former Kidō Commander, who could, Sōsuke was quite certain, call upon an army to storm this place and take him back by force, if she really did believe him her property. 

For that matter, Onigawa could probably break these walls down herself. No one here had a fraction of her power. There were no soldiers or guards here. The only thing remotely resembling a weapon were the kitchen knives.

It would be a massacre. Or at the very least, a short-lived moment of ‘freedom’ for him.

Surely, the monk knew that. 

Perhaps there was something here Sōsuke didn’t know. Onigawa had capitulated when the monk threatened to come for Sōsuke if she didn’t surrender him once a month. Was there more to that than a concern that their secret would be exposed?

“Do you have some kind of immunity against kidō?” Sōsuke asked. “Or is there some other reason the shinigami wouldn’t just slaughter you?”

Komusō startled and was silent for so long that Sōsuke wondered if he’d been too blunt. He guessed he must have been, the way the monk coughed and sputtered before he spoke. 

“Well, well. Your life must have been very brutal, indeed,” he said at last. “It’s true that if you were that precious to Onigawa, we wouldn’t stand a chance. However, ‘slaughtering’ us would be considered… bad form. We have an agreement with the Gotei. The shinigami are mostly uninterested in the goings on in the Rukongai, yet they have a vested interest in keeping revolt and revolution from their doorstep. We keep the peace by providing--where we can--food and… solace to those who might be in need.”

Didn’t _everyone_ need food?

This word, “solace,” seemed awfully weighted, as well.

But, there was an even bigger more fascinating idea in the monk’s words: “Revolt? Against the shinigami? How? …. _Why_?”

The monk gestured for Sōsuke to keep his voice down. “Why? Ah, you should come travelling with me sometime, or ask some of your coworkers in the kitchen about the places they’ve come from.”

That was awfully curious. Sōsuke suddenly found the idea of talking to people a lot more rewarding.

#

Though getting people to say anything more than ‘You don’t want to hear about Inuzuri’ or that whatever other district they were from ‘wasn’t nice, not like here,’ proved surprisingly challenging.

When he complained of this to Komusō as he was preparing to return to Onigawa’s, the monk laughed at him again as though his deep frustration was somehow funny. 

At least, unlike Onigawa, the monk immediately offered a straightforward solution: “You have to make friends first, Sōsuke. Good friends. Ones who trust you not to make fun of them or put them down once you know something about their great shame, their embarrassing past. You may have to be willing to share something about yourself first, and risk getting close to people.”

Ah, he hadn’t tried that. “I’ve never had a friend.”

The bucket on the monk’s head went up and down in a nod. “That’s obvious. However, it’s also charming how clumsily you try. When you come back, you’ll have another chance. People here understand why you might be awkward.”

#

Onigawa seemed startled by his return. “They didn’t completely charm you away from me, then? Got tired of the stick, did you? I tried to warn you about that!”

Sōsuke ignored her jibe. He was too horrified by the state of the place. The cottage was a mess! Had she done no tidying up the entire time he was away? Sōsuke dropped his bag at the door and started gathering up plates. 

“The stick bothered me less than all the people,” he told her as he worked. “I don’t know how to make friends.”

“Oh.” Her attitude shifted from mocking to something quieter. She sat back against the wall and blew smoke out onto the open porch. “Yeah,” she agreed after a long moment. “That’s hard.”

So it was difficult for everyone? 

That came as a bit of a relief. Sōsuke had been wondering if his lack of understanding about how friendship was accomplished was another one of his personal blind spots. 

“After you left, I sent a Hell Butterfly to our usual courier,” Onigawa said. “He’s going to pick you up more of those adventure novels when he comes across them. I guess there’s a whole series. His reply said he’d look for similar titles as well. He’ll just take the cost from the stipend.”

Sōsuke nearly dropped the dishes he was holding in surprise. “But… novels aren’t cheap!”

Onigawa laughed a little. “Well, I guess these are. The courier made them sound like they were a ken a dozen. Anyway, it might help with your problem. People in books always know just how to make friends.” She chewed on the end of her pipe for a moment. “Maybe I ought to have the courier look for a few romances, too. You might need to be prepared for all that, too.”

Sōsuke dropped the dishes now and rushed over to envelope Onigawa in a big hug. He squeezed her with sincere gratitude. Not only was she trying to help him, but… books!! “Thank you so much, Sensei!”

“Heh, if I knew cheap-ass thrillers were the way to your heart, I’d have had them sent months ago,” she said, lightly pushing him off her. But, she gave him an affectionate head rub and a little pat on his shoulder. “Ah, I knew books would be good for you after that first winter. I just… well, they’re coming now and that’s what’s important.”

“I can’t thank you enough!”

“So… I’m forgiven?”

For what? She must mean the manacles, but Sōsuke had been far more angry at himself for not realizing the danger that the shinigami had represented. He would never forget the lesson that Hachimura had taught him: a lack of apparent remorse made everything worse. So, he bowed his head and said, “No, it’s me that should beg for forgiveness. I should have listened to you, Sensei. ‘Stop’ was a lesson, too, and one I completely failed to grasp.”

Her eyes went very wide and her mouth hung open for several seconds. Then, she slowly smiled. “I think I like what these monks do for you.”

#

The days passed quickly after that.

Sōsuke kept up a daily practice of meditation. He found it helped him with his general impatience, as well as clearly starting to show progress towards reiatsu control. He felt on the verge of being able to retract his spiritual pressure without the aid of the chant. And, since Onigawa continued to put a hold on his progress, this small work kept him from pushing the limits of his cuffs in any obvious ways.

He still read her kidō textbooks on the sly, however. He just set himself the task of memorizing the spells and not trying to perform them.

Yet.

The courier arrived two days before Sōsuke would be leaving for the temple again. He brought three more books in the series. Three! He kept apologizing that they were out of order, but Sōsuke couldn’t have cared less. He clutched the books to his chest and bowed deeply. “Please don’t let it trouble you, my lord. I’m extremely grateful for anything you can find.”

As hard as it was to set them aside and not begin reading immediately, Sōsuke needed to pay attention. He didn’t trust Onigawa to know precisely how much salt they needed. 

Money was counted and several notes were handed back to cover the cost of the novels, salt was purchased, along with dried ginger and several different peppercorns. He only had to correct two of Onigawa's suggestions for amounts, which, for her, wasn’t bad at all.

Official business concluded, Sōsuke was about to retreat to the kitchen to store the goods and steal a few minutes with the first of the new books, when the merchant jerked his thumb in Sōsuke’s direction and said, “Be sure yours travels with his papers. There’ve been shinigami all up and down the trade routes.”

Sōsuke hadn’t even brought the letter Onigawa had written on his behalf the first time he traveled to the temple. It had never occurred to him that he could get stopped on the road. He hung in the doorway, listening intently.

“Shinigami?” she scoffed. “They never come this far out.”

Except on Kyōraku’s orders, but they all three knew that.

“I saw them myself in the Midori no Kawa District,” he said. “That’s this deep, only to the south. I suspect they’ll be circling around soon enough.”

Onigawa took a thoughtful pull on her pipe. “Any idea what they’re up to?”

The spice merchant shook his head. “They’re not bothering traders, at least not for anything more than a free ride or directions.” He laughed a little self-deprecatingly. “You know how it is. I’ll only hear when someone’s business suffers for it.”

“Directions?” Sōsuke asked, “You don’t ask for directions unless you _know_ where you’re going. Does that mean they’re looking for someone specific? Someone they know?”

“Could be,” the merchant gave him a funny little look, like he had when Sōsuke had spoken before about the salt and ginger. Then, he stroked his wisp of a beard. “I honestly hadn’t thought about it that way. I’ll have to ask--maybe it’s nothing to worry about, after all. Maybe they’re just hunting one of their own.”

“I’m one of their own,” Onigawa reminded them.

The conversation seemed over and so Sōsuke stepped into the kitchen, but not before he heard the spice merchant say, “Clever slaves are trouble. You sure you don’t want me to take him off your hands? I could give you one of mine in exchange. I’ve got plenty of good workers that know better than to talk out of turn. Kyōraku-sama would never need to know.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Ah. Is he Lord Kyōraku’s, then?”

Onigawa didn’t answer immediately and Sōsuke felt her reiatsu scanning for his. He breathed in and pulled it back just enough that she might imagine him outside the back door, tending the chickens or heading to the earthen cellar. “I’ve always assumed so,” she said finally. “Shunsui never said as much, but you don’t keep this kind of money flowing for nothing. Anyway, the hair seems like a dead giveaway, don’t you think?”

It made a lot of sense, certainly, but Sōsuke knew it wasn’t true.

Kyōraku hadn’t come to the Maggot’s Nest looking for him, or even any _boy_. The two shinigami had been after a girl. Sōsuke had only stowed away by chance.

“Yes, same curls, same color. I wondered, too. The boy looks like he’ll be tall, though the lady must have had a slender build. How do you suppose he ended up a slave? Who would take one so young? They wouldn’t even consider him for the salt mines until now.”

There must have been a shrug. “Who knows? You just keep your mitts off him. He’d be wasted in your damn mines.”

“They all are,” the merchant agreed. “That’s why they always need more.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“You really can’t point fingers here, Onigawa,” he said with a dark chuckle. There were sounds of shuffling of silks. The merchant must be headed for the door. “Anyway, we only _trade_ in salt. The Kyōraku sold off the mining rights long ago, they just own the land. They get the salt in rent, but any blood is on someone else’s hands”

“Mmm, clever.”

The merchant must not have heard Onigawa’s disapproving tone. “Quite.”

It seemed, at least, that Sōsuke had a piece of the monk’s puzzle: slaves in a salt mine would hold no love for the Gotei.

#

The temple was filled with talk of shinigami on the move, too. Interestingly enough, all the talk of shinigami brought out people’s pasts.

“I was going to be one,” the head cook noted casually. It was early evening and a large group of travelers had arrived that night looking for food and shelter. 

As usual on his first days back at the temple, the cook had given Sōsuke the easiest job. All Sōsuke had to do was make sure that each tray contained all of the items for the servers to take out. Mostly, this involved preparing and adding a bowl of sweet onion pickles. Perhaps he might also do a little rearranging and straightening, if there was time. 

“Dragged my sorry ass all the way to Academy, too,” the cook continued as he worked. “Couldn’t pass the entrance exam. They said I didn’t have enough power, but I was half-starved. I could barely walk, much less make one of them energy balls.”

“Hadō 30, Shakkahō,” Sōsuke said. When everyone gave him a look, he shrugged. “I live with the Kidō Master.”

After the server delivered the first plates to the travelers, Sōsuke waited for the next set to be ready and considered what the head cook had said. “Why were you starving? Was that part of the test for some reason?”

The cook gave Sōsuke a funny little look, but then said, “Of course you wouldn’t know. I guess, in a weird way sla-- uh, people like you get taken care of because you’re more like a precious bit of livestock.”

How any of that was more polite than saying “slave,” Sōsuke wasn’t sure, but he nodded for the cook to continue.

“Inuzuri didn’t have many monks that stayed around. If they had food or, really anything of value, they’d’ve been robbed,” the cook explained. “So when they came through, it was triage only. Prayers over the heaps of dead, shit like that. Honestly, I used to think of monks as people that’d take your money off ya on the promise of a prayer than never did anyone any good. Not in this life, anyways,” Looking around at the listening faces, the cook added, “Present company excluded, of course.”

The monks in the kitchen made murmurs of understanding, which fascinated Sōsuke. It had never occurred to him that there were monkish orders that might be untrustworthy.

The cook fell silent then, and everyone turned back to their work as though that explained everything. “I’m sorry, sir,” Sōsuke said. “Please forgive my ignorance, but I still don’t understand the connection. Why didn’t the Academy feed you when you arrived at their door so obviously starving?”

The cook glanced up. He shook his head sadly. “They don’t think we need it.”

“How can that be?” Sōsuke asked. “Everyone needs food.... Every _thing_ needs food.”

“I see why that strange bucket-headed monk likes you so much, kid. He thinks just like you do.” The cook smiled at Sōsuke, but then his face grew thoughtful as he continued. “But, shinigami--I dunno, I’m guessing they forget or they’re on strict orders or something, but they figure us souls out here in the Rukongai were born hungry ghosts and nothing else. It’s our fate to starve.”

One of the monks who was washing dishes, turned around. “No, not fate. By design,” he said, wiping his soapy hands on his apron. “Fate can be cruel, but Sōsuke-kun is right. Fate provides sun for plants and moss for the deer. This is intentional cruelty. I grew up in a farming district. We had food everywhere, but the lands--the crops we tended--weren’t ours. If we took even a grain of rice for ourselves, we were marked as thieves.” He lifted a sleeve of his robes to show off a dark band--some kind of tattoo that encircled his wrist. “My power was enough that I couldn’t help myself, I had to feed it. If I’d stayed any longer, I wouldn’t have had hands left to work. Or I’d have been flogged to death by now.”

“By shinigami?” one of the servers asked. Sōsuke was happy to see he wasn’t the only one confused.

“By nobles,” the monk corrected. “The food we grew probably fed shinigami, too, but the farmland was owned by nobles.”

Like the Kyōraku salt mines, full of slaves.

The monk turned to the cook and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you didn’t join them. You’d be our enemy now, not our friend.”

“Shinigami aren’t all bad,” the server said. “A shinigami healed my cousin’s calf.”

Sōsuke didn’t have the heart to say that might very well have been him. 

Another monk, who was in charge of ladling out bowls of soup, said, “My brother still holds onto some unfair--if understandable--resentments. Individual shinigami can be good people. They are not, themselves, our enemies. My brother’s point, however, is valid. They have chosen to support and defend an unfair and deeply corrupted system. They work for the enemy.”

“Eh, and don’t act like becoming a shinigami is always that much of a choice either,” the cook added, turning to the dishwasher. “Like you said, if you’ve got any hunger, it drives you. It drives you to fucking distraction, to near _madness_. I thought the only relief was to join up.”

“Exactly,” continued the soup tending monk. “We can’t blame individuals for decisions based on circumstances we know nothing of.”

The dishwasher nodded his shaved head. “Of course. My brother is very wise, far wiser than I. My deepest apologies.”

Sōsuke had many more questions now, but the conversation had clearly ended and the work wouldn’t wait any longer.

#

It was two days into his time at the temple that Sōsuke realized that he hadn’t seen the basket-helmet monk, Komusō, anywhere. Having managed to beg off playing whatever new game everyone was into, Sōsuke wandered the temple grounds in search of him.

A small bridge, its wood painted a bright red, crossed over a small creek that gurgled down the mountainside. Moss covered boulders lined the steep banks. Mist drifted above the water’s surface in the cool early evening air. Fireflies flashed, like a tiny, floating firelight processional, following the stream’s curving path as it disappeared into the mountain’s dense forest.

Sōsuke rarely came this way. The only destination this road led to was an ancient, overgrown cemetery. The stones crowded together, some toppled over. Vines obscured many of the inscriptions, but the cemetery was not neglected so much as allowed its stately progression through time. For instance, someone had recently left a pile of stones in front of the small, smiling O-Jizō-sama statue near the entrance to the graveyard. 

Because of his bald head and beatific smile, Sōsuke had initially thought the statue was some unknown aspect of the Buddha. Someone had explained that this kindly god was much older, and protected the souls of children who’d died before their parents. He was especially beloved in the Rukongai, as he was considered a champion for those who are destined to suffer in the land of the dead… which, Sōsuke had also learned was here--this world, the Soul Society.

It unnerved him to realize that, somehow, what he experienced as life was death.

“Ah,” came a familiar voice, “Feeling existential, Sōsuke?”

How Komusō could always read his moods so perfectly, Sōsuke didn’t know. “It’s true. The existence of graves in the land of the dead challenges my perceptions of the world.”

The monk laughed heartily. “As well they should, I suppose. But, graves don’t exist for those passed to the next realm, so much as for those left behind. They give loved ones a place to mourn. Dead or living, we all grieve.”

Sōsuke was always deeply curious about all these various soul realms that supposedly existed, but his current concerns were far more… earthly, so he just nodded thoughtfully before changing the subject. “Everyone is talking about the shinigami.”

“Yes, they’re on the move. I’ve been thinking this might be as good a time as any to pull up stakes, myself!” Komusō noted with a touch of amusement. Then, he seemed to look over at Sōsuke for a moment of two. “Are you... worried that they’ll come for the Kidō Master?”

Onigawa had suggested herself that it was a possibility. He shrugged. The Gotei knew exactly where she was. They hardly needed to mount a search for her. If Sōsuke worried about anything, it was the very slim possibility that they might be looking for _him_. 

He glanced down at the almost imperceptible trace of the ribbons left on the manacles. As much as that whole incident galled him on a personal level, Hachimura’s visit actually reassured Sōsuke that whatever contract existed between Kyōraku-sama and the Gotei’s Head Captain remained intact. 

His reiatsu restraint had been an explicit part of that deal and it was being maintained. 

“Ah,” the monk said before Sōsuke could respond. “You once belonged to a shinigami. You fear you’ll be returned to them.”

He had no fear of that. Though if he were, he was quite certain that he would much prefer to live with Ukitake-dono or Kyōraku-sama than Onigawa any day. However, that was clearly never going to be an option. “I was very expressly given to Onigawa. I can’t imagine them wanting me back.”

“So what has you so troubled?”

Sōsuke watched the sparking dance of fireflies along the riverbank, as he tried to articulate his thoughts. “This has nothing to do with any of that. It’s true that shinigami scare me, but it’s more that I’m… angry with them? I don’t know why, but I thought what they did had to do with policing, making sure _everyone_ was treated fairly. That doesn’t seem to be the case at all.”

Komusō chuckled. “I see you managed to make a few friends, after all, eh?”

“No,” Sōsuke shook his head. “I’m still terrible at making friends.”

A hand fell on Sōsuke’s shoulder. “Ah, you’re more well-liked than you know. Several monks here would like to liberate you forcibly and drag you into the order. Only… that’s not how any of this works, is it?”

Sōsuke was beginning to understand how little he knew about how anything worked. “Is it true that people are starving in the Rukongai? Even farmers?”

The helmet went up and down in a sad nod. “That’s why we do what we can. You could join that mission, if you like.”

Even though he loved the life here at the temple, Sōsuke wasn’t sure he would be satisfied with it. There was his reiatsu that wouldn’t go away, even if he meditated it down to appear to be almost nothing. And, while feeding the hungry was a noble cause--wasn’t it part of the same system that the shinigami supported? Hadn’t Komusō himself told Sōsuke that by helping the unfortunate they kept revolt from the Gotei’s doorstep? 

Revolt seemed like it might be necessary to effect real change. Shouldn’t the whole system be rebooted instead?

Sōsuke let out a sigh and released his building self-righteousness, because, really, what could one person like him really do, anyway? He was bound to Onigawa. His power was bound by these manacles. Fate had trapped him in the middle of nowhere with reiatsu he was not allowed to use.

Huh.

Maybe that’s why people feared him, why he’d been thrown into the Maggot’s Nest before he could even speak.

Maybe his power _could_ be a threat to the status quo, to the whole system.

Perhaps, if he could train and push his spiritual pressure until it was strong enough, he would break free… not just of the manacles, but everything, even fate. 

So, Sōsuke turned to Komusō and solemnly vowed. “Someday, I will. Someday, I will do everything in my power to make the world right.”

#

The night before he was to return to Onigawa’s, Sōsuke woke up with a start. The sensation that a terrible storm was building filled him again, only this one was far bigger and more dangerous. And it seemed to be approaching from two sides.

“Shinigami,” he whispered to himself. 

They were coming.

#

Sōsuke didn’t quite know how to explain to people at the temple exactly how it was that he knew for certain that shinigami would be arriving within a day or two, but the bucket-helmet monk, Komusō, seemed to have sensed it as well. “Batten down the hatches, my friends!” he was saying as Sōsuke arrived for kitchen duty that morning. “Hide the good silverware. From the feel of it, I’d say you’re expecting a half a dozen of the usual ruffians and... a captain.”

“A captain?” The cook looked ashen at the thought. “What the fuck. Are they planning to level this place?”

“We don’t know if they’re even coming for us,” Komusō said. “The captain is traveling on his own.”

“Coming from the north,” Sōsuke said excitedly, suddenly understanding the nature of that particular reiatsu sensation. “Ah, that means the others are a group! The ones sweeping in from the east. So six shinigami can feel like one captain?”

When he looked to confirmation from Komusō, Sōsuke realized his mistake. “They’re days out yet, son. How on earth could you sense that?”

Sōsuke’s mouth opened to defend himself, but nothing came out. 

The cook saved him. “Aw, c’mon. You really surprised, Mr. Straw-Hat Monk? I know we ain’t supposed to bring it up in front of the kid, but why the hell else would the Kidō Master buy a foreign slave? She’s probably trying to pick up some new magic off him or use what he’s got for her own. It’s not like we can’t all sense it, anyways. Why do you think I slip him extra food? Someone around here ought grow some balls and free that boy so he can go to Academy.”

“Or join us,” said the dishwashing monk. “Sōsuke-kun has a strong sense of righteousness.”

Sōsuke had no idea so many people had opinions about him or his situation with Onigawa.

“We can _offer_ refuge,” Komusō said. “But, we can _not_ force freedom on Sōsuke… or anyone. Otherwise, how are we different from the Kidō Master?”

The dishwashing monk, shook his shaved head and frowned. “Some things are just wrong.”

“And doing _anything_ , even good, without consent is one of them,” the Komusō insisted. “Sōsuke has expressed nothing to indicate he is unhappy with his lot. We must respect that.”

The cook crossed his arms in front of his barrel chest. “You know, Straw-Hat, there’s not saying anything and then there’s having an owner who can drop black boxes outta the sky on your head not saying anything. Kind of two very different ‘not saying,’ don’t you think?”

Komusō put his hands on his hips. “Sōsuke knows he can come to us. Do you not, Sōsuke?”

“I do,” Sōsuke agreed. 

“Then how come you don’t?” the cook asked him. “You could be free here.”

This was a sticking point. How could he explain that his freedom had never been what was at stake? Perhaps, he should confess some of the truth. They already believed him capable of ‘magic.’ “Onigawa teaches me. She gives me books.”

“She taught you to read?” The cook seemed impressed. 

Sōsuke had intended those to be two separate things, but he was sure to say: “I can read.”

“ _I_ can barely read,” the cook admitted with a gruff snort.

The dishwasher laughed. “We have tried to teach you! You’re just not as motivated and diligent a student as Sōsuke-kun.”

“True ‘nuff,” the cook agreed with a smile. “I ain’t got the patience for all that.”

The dish washing monk turned to give Sōsuke a long look. “Freedom is more precious than you might know,” he said. “You would be an excellent scholar, Sōsuke. We would _also_ teach you anything you wished. Our libraries would be yours.”

There was a library? 

“Thank you, sir.” Sōsuke bowed low, almost touching his knees. “But with shinigami coming, this might not be the best time for making such a… life-changing decision.”

Komusō burst out with a guffaw. “Ha! Excellent point!”

The dishwasher finally returned to his work. “Yes, I suppose it can wait until they’re gone.”

#

Sōsuke arrived back at Onigawa’s several hours in advance of the shinigami. He’d left the Temple before first light when it had become clear from the trajectory of the reiatsu signatures that the captain was headed to their cottage.

Rather than her usual snarky banter, Onigawa met him at the backdoor with a nod of greeting and a long scan of the horizon. “I don’t think it’s either Jushiro or Shunsui, unless they finally got that bankai they’ve been chasing.”

“No,” Sōsuke shook his head in agreement, turning to glance back down the main road he’d come from. “This isn’t them. This is more… electric.”

“Could be Jushiro,” Onigawa suggested hopefully. “His shikai mentions lightning.”

Sōsuke said nothing since he’d never heard of this ‘shikai.’ However, they both knew that if it was Ukitake-dono approaching, they’d have felt the presence of the dark god. “Will you fight?”

Onigawa finally shifted her attention to Sōsuke. “Depends on what they want from us. You didn’t lie to Shunsui and Jushiro, did you? You weren’t in that place because you slit someone else’s throat, were you?”

“I was never after your _throat_ , Sensei, just the string around your neck,” Sōsuke reminded her. But, when she wouldn’t move aside to let him in and continued to give him a serious, hard look, he sighed. “If I’m a murderer, I have no recollection of it. I have no memories at all before the Maggot’s Nest. However, I have no proof to offer but my word. If that’s worthless, there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

Besides, it had been obvious from the start what she thought of him.

It would be laughable, if it wasn’t also frustratingly painful. When he was at the temple, no one would believe him more than a slave. When he returned here, he was nothing but a criminal.

The manacles always defined him.

Onigawa’s mouth became a thin line. “I never promised Shunsui I’d trade my life for yours.”

Sōsuke nodded. As long as that pretense was out of the way, he might as well stop pretending as well. “Nor I for yours. It’s understood, then? Everyone for themselves.”

Onigawa chuckled darkly. “Sounds about right. Just remember who keeps you in books.”

That would be the merchant and Kyōraku’s money, but Sōsuke made an agreeing noise. “And who keeps your house in order.”

#

He should have known from the tenor of their previous conversation what Onigawa had planned for him. That and the fact that she insisted he eat precisely a half hour before the captain arrived.

“A slave wouldn’t eat with us,” she reminded him. “Look, I made it specially for you. Just eat it, Sōsuke. If they’re here to fight, you’ll want your strength. If they’re here to talk, you can’t sit there with a growling stomach. They’ll think I abuse you!”

Sōsuke agreed because he had no reasonable argument to counter her logic.

The miso had a strange sour aftertaste. When he complained about it, she bristled: “That’s why I usually have you cook!”

He thought no more of it. They were too focused on the growing reiatsu bearing down on them. Sōsuke’s nerves jittered; Onigawa was more snappish than usual.

When the shinigami arrived, he introduced himself as “ _Lieutenant_ Sasakibe.”

Not a captain? 

Onigawa and Sōsuke exchanged a look at the title, but neither of them challenged the man’s claim, especially when he added that he was from the First Division. It made sense that someone with a captain’s strength would directly report to the Captain Commander. 

Sasakibe was not very remarkable for someone with so much strength, however. His demeanor was reserved and he seemed completely washed out. Other than the black of his uniform visible under a white overcoat, there was only gray: gray hair, gray eyes. 

Entirely uninteresting and unassuming.

Yet the power he exuded was unmistakably threatening.

The porch was the most comfortable place in the oppressive summer heat and so Onigawa took up her favorite spot and gestured for the lieutenant to sit where he liked. Sōsuke had prepared watermelon slices and mizu yoken, a red bean and green tea dessert that had been kept chilled in storage. 

He set those out, intending to slip back into the kitchen to deal with the dirty dishes Onigawa had ignored in his absence.

Unobtrusively--or so he had hoped, he slid a plate beside the lieutenant. Before he could slip away, a hand closed around his arm and held firm. The lieutenant frowned at the manacles and asked: “What’s this?”

Sōsuke looked to Onigawa, who shrugged, “Reiatsu suppressing cuffs.”

The truth?

The lieutenant held on to his arm and seemed to consider this a long time. “Why does this boy need something like that?”

“He came to me that way,” Onigawa said with another shrug, as she blew a stream of smoke from her mouth. “He was purchased from the Maggot’s Nest.”

The lieutenant startled and let go of Sōsuke suddenly, like he no longer wanted to touch him. “Bought? He’s a... slave?”

Onigawa let out a long suffering breath and all but rolled her eyes. “Are you here to give me a moral lecture, Lieutenant Sasakibe? Only, you’ve come an awfully long way just to hassle me about something that, while you might find distasteful, isn’t the least bit illegal.”

Sasakibe gave Sōsuke a lingering glance, but Sōsuke dropped his eyes and bowed his head, remembering to play the part of ‘slave.’ His stomach did an odd little flip, which confused him. He’d been forced into this role so many times he normally felt no particular shame. 

“You people out looking for a slave or something?” Onigawa pressed. “Only the traders tell me shinigami are on the hunt for something.”

The lieutenant sat tailor fashion on the wooden floor of the porch and leaned back against one of the support beams. Pulling the plate into his lap, he took a thoughtful bite of watermelon. “I suppose we are, at that,” he said after he swallowed. “We’re looking for a murderer.”

Onigawa must have unconsciously glanced in his direction, because Sōsuke felt the lieutenant’s attention return to him.

Sasakibe let out a little huff of a laugh, like he couldn’t believe his luck. “In the Maggot’s Nest for murder, were you?”

“I honestly don’t know, sir,” Sōsuke kept his head down. His heart pounded against his chest. He felt unaccountably hot. “I remember nothing of my life before.”

“Why would your master look to you, then?”

Sōsuke’s cheeks flushed. He hesitated, hoping Onigawa would step in, but she’d made her position clear, hadn’t she? Well, the truth with parts omitted seemed to be how she was playing it; he would try it, too. “My master thinks I want her dead, but it was only the key I was after.”

“Any chance he ever belonged to the Kuchiki clan?”

Sōsuke lifted his head enough to watch Onigawa’s face. Her eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise and she shook her head. “Kuchiki? I thought they were low on heirs.”

“Heirs? What does that have to do with anything?” Sasakibe asked, stroking the end of his mustache with a long-boned finger.

“I always figured the person the boy killed was the poor lass that bore him. Those cuffs contain a mighty reiatsu and it doesn’t take much to imagine what might have happened to some low-born waif carrying that kind of bun in the oven.” She took a drag on her pipe. “He’s a nobleman’s bastard, no doubt. But, the Kuchiki wouldn’t dump one of their own in the Nest. Not one with this kind of power--I mean, if the rumors are true, anyway. They’d have passed him off as some other Kuchiki’s, maybe even move him higher up the food chain, make him look legitimate, if you know what I mean?”

Sōsuke stopped really listening. 

His reiatsu could have killed his own mother?

He’d been a murderer all along.

“They don’t even achieve bankai in every generation,” Onigawa gossiped like an old lady. Leaning toward Sasakibe, she stage-whispered: “Then there’s that birth rate of theirs. Of course, it doesn’t help that they kept coming to my command looking for ways to make sure they’d only have boys. I told them that would cause them trouble down the line. And now here we are.”

Sōsuke barely heard her words. His stomach clutched with a sudden, sharp pain. He bent over with the need to expel everything he’d eaten.

“Shit!” Onigawa was on her feet, propelling him off the porch and into the front lawn. He stumbled along and collapsed on all fours just as the first wave expelled half-digested food. “Ugh! What the fuck, kid. You know if you’re going to be sick, you’re supposed to run for the compost bin.”

Sōsuke coughed and spat, as another wave of nausea hit him. Huge chunks of gross spattered the grass and dirt. The sourness of the miso tasted just as horrible the second time as it had the first. His arms shook with the violence of the purge.

“I don’t think the poor lad knew what you suspected about his mother,” the lieutenant’s voice was low, concerned.

“Ah,” Onigawa sounded chagrined. Someone rubbed his back has Sōsuke continued to heave. Onigawa’s voice was sympathetic. “Ah, shit, son. I’m sorry.”

The lieutenant spoke softly. “You’ve given me valuable information, Commander--things I’d like to pass on to the investigative team immediately. Why don’t I give you two a little time to… settle. I’ll go out back to summon my butterfly.”

A few moments after Sasakibe moved away, Sōsuke’s stomach finally felt empty. He pushed himself up off his hands and knees. Sitting back, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. It surprised him to find tears.

Onigawa continued to rub circles into Sōsuke’s back. With a glance over her shoulder, she whispered: “I poisoned the miso. I knew it would make a good distraction, shift sympathy,”

Poisoned him? As a distraction? 

Sōsuke was beginning to rethink his desire to see her dead. 

Onigawa peered curiously at the tears streaming down his face. “What’s all this? I’ve never seen you cry. You’re not actually upset about what I said about your mother, are you? It’s not your fault. I mean, if it even happened that way.”

But it could have. In fact, it seemed very likely. “How could my mother have been strong enough to carry me, but die at my birth?”

Onigawa tensed. “I guess that’s the nature of souls. Maybe yours wasn’t fully present until that moment, and suddenly, it arrived, and was too much.”

“I don’t understand,” Sōsuke said, miserable. Though his tears were not for a mother he never knew, so much as terrible sense of his own… corruption. He hated the idea that he might _deserve_ the manacles.

“Nobody really understands much about souls,” she said, cautiously, watching his tears with wide eyes. “Anyway, even if she did die because of your spiritual pressure, it’s not like you could have any control over that. It’s not your fault you were born this way.”

“Whose fault is it?”

Onigawa shrugged. “I don’t know. The Soul King? The gods?”

Sōsuke knew of gods, but what was a Soul King?

She must have seen something in his expression that made her smile. She reached out and ruffled his hair. “There you go. That’s the Sōsuke I know. Your mind is onto the next thing already, isn’t it? Ask those monks of yours if you want to know about the Soul King. C’mon, let me get you a nice bit of tea with ginger. It’ll make you feel better.”

He pulled himself to shaky feet. With a sharp look, he said: “I’ll make the tea. Never cook for me again.”

#

Onigawa tucked him into his bedroll with a small pot of tea and a favorite novel.

He read and half-listened while she and Lieutenant Sasakibe talked. Some clan head had been murdered--this Kuchiki person, at a guess--but there were other complications to do with someone else’s treason and hidden senkaimon, which were apparently a gateway to other worlds. Onigawa and the lieutenant compared notes about the kind of high level Kidō such a thing would take and the sorts of people she might know of, besides herself, out in the Rukongai that might have that kind of power.

Apparently, her plan worked. His sickness shifted the tone of this visit, because they laughed about something now. Onigawa no longer seemed to be a suspect.

Just as importantly, they hadn’t spoken about him at all, since.

Setting his book aside, Sōsuke let his eyes drift closed. 

There was much to think about and consider. 

Onigawa’s deviousness… frustrated him. Because the shinigami had come to talk, her little distraction had been successful. But, had the lieutenant come to fight, Sōsuke would have been rendered utterly defenseless and completely helpless. 

It was one thing to leave him to fend for himself. That, they had discussed; that was a possibility he’d prepared for. 

It was quite another to unilaterally waste him, to sucker punch him. If it had come to a fight, Sōsuke had suspected that Onigawa would abandon him in a heartbeat should things have turned sour, but he had not anticipated that she would go so far as to cripple him in advance.

Despite her talk, she thought very little of him and his abilities.

She believed him only as useful as a distraction, like a heavy sack of potatoes to throw at the enemy so that they might drop their sword and instinctively grab for it.

But, he had Kido spells in advance of Hado 30. Not far beyond, but Hado 30 was plenty destructive on its own.

Yet, Sōsuke understood their power difference. He was a novice and she was a master. She did not _need_ his help to vanquish any enemy. However, what he had was far from nothing. He could have aided her efforts with something more than vomit.

That Onigawa never even considered his usefulness was something Sōsuke might never forgive her for. 

Ever.

Opening his eyes, Sōsuke sat up a little to pour himself another bowl of tea. He winced a little at the soreness of his stomach muscles. The lieutenant seemed to be making his goodbyes. Sasakibe stood and bowed deeply to Onigawa. He turned to give Sōsuke a little, sad look and raised a hand. 

Sōsuke waved back.

“You take care now,” Sasakibe said to him.

“Thank you, sir. I will.” Sōsuke bowed just his head because his stomach was unhappy enough sitting upright.

It seemed to be enough, because when he looked up again, the lieutenant had flashed out of sight. 

“Well,” Onigawa sighed. “That could have been worse.”

Sōsuke thought again about how things would have played out had he been disabled from a fight by her poison. “It could have been much worse.”

It was then that he decided he would never be left helpless again. He would anticipate the motives of others so that _he_ would be the betrayer, not the betrayed. He would no longer abide by Onigawa’s restrictions or content himself with meditative study. He would find a way to counteract the damn manacles.

He would push past them and teach himself.

He already had an idea on how to do that. It was the visit from Kyōraku’s shinigami, Yadōmaru, that inspired him. The cuffs only restricted if they detected a spike in spiritual pressure. If he could stay in his inward, meditative state, he might be able to draw on his reserves without seeming to increase his reiatsu. 

It was a theory, anyway.

One, Sōsuke was suddenly quite anxious to test.


	3. A Hollow Heart

Sōsuke kept his practice a secret. 

In fact, he only attempted physical manifestations of spells on the road between Onigawa’s cabin and the temple. That way, should he miscalculate, the temple healers could tend to any injury or broken bones. Onigawa would never be the wiser and, more importantly, have nothing to report back. For all she knew, he’d settled into an obedient life and was satisfied with zero progress and feeding chickens.

He took the dishwashing monk’s offer and apprenticed himself to the monastery’s librarian. There was very little in the books and scrolls that would advance his knowledge of kidō, but there was much to be learned about meditation. 

And with it, energy manipulation.

He kept his eye out, too, for hints about the Soul King or information about the transmigration of souls.

Komusō, the basket-helmet monk, returned to the temple as the leaves began to fall. They met in the garden before the morning prayers. Sōsuke had arrived early and had taken it upon himself to sweep the garden path. Komusō greeted him with a hug and a happy: “So! You’ve taken the plunge, I hear. A novice!”

Officially becoming a novice--a monk in training--had been the only way to be allowed access to the library and more time in meditation practice. As a bonus, it had also put an end to further discussion of forcibly liberating him from Onigawa. That, it was agreed, would come once he was ordained. But, Sōsuke was very clear that he remained firmly undecided. Whenever possible, he expressed the one doubt that everyone seemed to accept, “Yes, but I’m still deciding. I’m not sure I want to commit to a lifetime of celibacy.”

“Understandable,” Komusō nodded. “You’re at a very… curious and experimental age.”

Sōsuke nodded. He was certainly both those things, though not in the way the monk meant. All of Sōsuke’s experiments had to do with reiatsu.

“I hear you’re also showing a talent for calligraphy,” Komusō added.

The dishwashing monk, whom Sōsuke learned had the unusual surname of Myoga, had taken a special interest in furthering Sōsuke’s ability to read and write--particularly the latter. By chance, Myoga was a world-class calligrapher--which was perhaps ironic since he had almost lost his hands to thievery.

Myoga pieces were especially well-known for their emotional and provocative flair. That sort of expression would normally be somewhat frowned on in a monk, but his work was particularly well liked by several noble houses in the Seireitei and the money Myoga’s art brought in helped pay for the temple’s expenses. Another irony. The nobles who nearly ended his career in calligraphy now paid for Myoga’s subversive religious order’s quietly revolutionary work.

“I’m just a student,” Sōsuke replied. His humility was sincere, as he deeply envied Myoga’s work and found it nearly impossible to copy. “I’m fortunate to have a willing and patient teacher.”

Komusō’s laughter was muffled by the basket-helmet. “Myoga has been dying to share his passion with someone. I’m sure he’s far more than just ‘willing.’”

If that was supposed to be a bad thing, Sōsuke didn’t understand it. It was such a new and wonderful experience for him to have a teacher who pushed and prodded and was profoundly disappointed when Sōsuke failed to practice obsessively. Myoga was the polar opposite of Onigawa. Myoga would happily keep Sōsuke up all night just to get a single stroke of the pen to perfection.

“I like him,” Sōsuke agreed. “His passion is infectious.”

“Then it seems that not only have you found the right teacher, but Myoga has found the perfect student, as well.”

The truth was, if Sōsuke’s spiritual pressure wasn’t what it was, he would have already taken vows and settled into a life at the temple. So much about the monks appealed to him. He liked the structure of their lives, the quiet communal nature of it, and, of course, the focus on a life of learning and seeking.

But, as enjoyable as it might be on the surface, for Sōsuke, it would be a compromised life. 

He would have to abandon his oath to himself and to Komusō that he would one day right the wrongs of this world. He would have to agree to a life, forever hobbled, in which he never plumbed the depths of his reiatsu… in which he kept his abilities completely locked away and hidden forever.

In many ways, Sōsuke felt it was far too late for that. 

He’d made his decision some time ago.

After all, on the trip to the temple this time, he’d managed Hadō 33, Blue Fire, Sōkatsui, without the slightest hint of restriction from the manacles. 

There was no turning back now.

#

When Sōsuke returned to Onigawa, he was surprised to find her frantically cleaning up her own accumulated mess.

“Someone’s coming,” Sōsuke surmised. Would it be the lover again--Yadōmaru, who had come prepared with restrictive bands?

“Jūshirō might be wintering with us,” she snapped, clearly irritated by the idea. “He needs a quiet, out of the way place to sit jinzen. And, apparently, massive Kidō barriers.”

No wonder she was upset. She’d have to stay sober in order to keep the proper energy flowing.

After stowing his bag, Sōsuke gently nudged her aside and took over the sweeping, leaving her to gather up the empties and other detritus. Instead, of course, she took advantage of his offer and sat herself down glumly on the porch. While he worked, she sat and smoked.

After a time, she said, “Your reiatsu seems to be settling naturally.”

Is that what she’d been waiting for? For him to “grow out of it”? What kind of negligent teaching was this? 

“Perhaps,” he agreed flatly, hoping not to betray his internal shock. He turned away from her, lest his emotion show on his face, to pick up the empty bottles and set them near the kitchen door. They’d need to have their labels carefully removed and be boiled to disinfect them in order for the sake merchant to take them as partial payment for a new set. “I’ve been sitting with the monks, as well. Mediating.”

“Hmmm, good. Jūshirō will be pleased by your progress.”

 _His_ progress, which had absolutely nothing to do with her. Sōsuke had neither forgotten, nor forgiven her for the poisoning.

#

The harvest was nearly completely set aside when Ukitake-dono arrived.

Having sensed his reiatsu for several hours in advance, Sōsuke butchered a chicken for the occasion. In retrospect, he might have timed things a bit better. Ukitake-dono seemed a little taken aback to see him spattered in blood.

“Oh my! Are you... quite alright? Uh, is Onigawa… around?” 

Sōsuke lifted the still dripping butchering knife to point toward the backdoor. “She’s just inside.”

For some reason, this caused Ukitake to drop his bags and rush into the cottage shouting for her. When she responded in her usual grumpy tone, Ukitake breathed a, “Oh! Oh thank goodness! I… I don’t know what I was thinking, but I’m... well, very glad you’re okay.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Oh, um… Ah. It’s just that young Sōsuke met me at the door with a knife, and…”

Sōsuke didn’t need to hear anymore. It seemed even Ukitake-dono was willing to entertain the possibility that he might be a murderer--and a stupid one, at that. What kind of killer greets someone still dripping in blood? Only one who was willing to be caught.

To think that Ukitake-dono thought him murderous was one thing, but also insanely stupid? 

_That_ was a disappointment.

Sōsuke went back to his chicken with a singular thought: _Some day, when I do murder someone, I want everyone to be shocked that it could ever have been me._

#

After a bath in the river and a change of clothes, Sōsuke started dinner.

On his last visit to the temple, he had brought back from town a small bag of ‘shinmai,’ rice from the first harvest in autumn. According to the temple monk, it was ‘not to be missed,’ as the rice was purportedly more moist and sweeter. 

To that he planned to add mountain harvested mushrooms and ginkgo nuts. 

For the chicken, Sōsuke had considered sashimi, as it was so fresh, but he was uncertain about his knife work. He opted for mitzutaki, which was basically hot pot. This way he could use the chicken bones to flavor the stock.

“You seem to have flourished,” Ukitake’s voice startled Sōsuke. He nearly flung the cabbage he was chopping across the room. How could someone with so much reiatsu have snuck into the kitchen unnoticed? Despite Sōsuke’s reaction, Ukitake continued, “Who is teaching you to cook?”

They both clearly knew it wasn’t Onigawa. 

Sōsuke carefully set the knife down, before turning around. He’d recently learned the name of the temple’s cook, too. What was it, again? It was something simple. “Date-san? The chef at the temple.”

Ukitake tucked his hands behind his back and smiled. Such a disarming smile--Sōsuke would have to practice to look so congenial, particularly as reiatsu swelled around Ukitake like a powerful wave. “Ah, yes, Onigawa told me about this arrangement. It seems to suit you. I was very impressed with your handwriting in the thank-you note you sent.”

Sōsuke frowned. He was still unhappy with his writing ability. He understood the strokes, but something was lacking. His teacher, Myoga, swore it would come in time, but admitted that currently the best Sōsuke seemed able to achieve could only be categorized as ‘workmanlike’ or ‘precise.’ None of these were good words for a calligrapher. Better to be passionate and expressive. 

“I’m a poor student,” Sōsuke said honestly. “But, I enjoy the study. I plan to stick with it.”

“Focused and driven as ever, I see!” 

Ukitake’s smile was warm, but Sōsuke had come to dread words like ‘obsessed’ and ‘ambitious’ when spoken by those who held the keys to his manacles.

“No, no, not at all,” he dipped his head demurely and turned back to his work. He reached for the cabbage from where it had rolled off the cutting board. “Calligraphy is merely a hobby, a pleasant pastime.”

Sōsuke could feel Ukitake-dono’s eyes on his back, but he did his best to busy himself with dinner preparations. He couldn’t afford Ukitake’s suspicion. 

After all, despite his best efforts, Sōsuke knew the manacles had become overloaded and weakened again. If Ukitake felt the need to test them, they would reveal Sōsuke’s deception--that he had never stopped pushing against them. Not only had he not stopped, but he had, in fact, doubled his efforts with the full intention of destroying them outright. 

“I should have asked you if you eat meat, Ukitake-dono,” Sōsuke said, glancing over his shoulder, making conversation. “It’s not too late. I have vegetable stock in the pantry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Ukitake said. Then, tucking his hand behind the nape of his neck like a boy caught out for something, he made a pained expression. “Ah! I should apologize for my reaction earlier.”

Once again and with great care Sōsuke set down the knife before waving away Ukitake’s concern. “I’m sure I looked quite the fright.”

“But I made a very _unkind_ assumption.”

He had, but it was hardly one that others didn’t also make, all the time. “You brought me up out of a prison. It’s only natural.”

Sōsuke had meant for his comment to excuse and appease, but Ukitake looked more stricken. Not sure what to say to make things better, Sōsuke was considering just turning back around and trying some other random conversational gambit. Sometimes the best strategy in these kind of awkward moments, he’d been discovering, was just to pretend they hadn’t happened. 

But, before he could, Ukitake reached out and grabbed both his hands in his. His gaze dropped to the manacles. His voice was low, concerned.“I expected these would be gone by now.”

Sōsuke froze. He wanted to pull himself away, violently, and run. Even as his heart began to race, Sōsuke knew that bolting would do him no good. There was nowhere to go, and, at any rate. It had all ended in humiliation the last time he’d tried to flee this particular examination. 

To keep the panic from his face, Sōsuke bowed his head and started to meditate. Maybe if he could retract his own reiatsu in time to the testing pulses he could fool Ukitake into believing the manacles were still functioning at their highest capacity.

Could he really fool a shinigami at this level?

He would have to try.

Sōsuke wasn’t sure what would happen if Ukitake uncovered this new deception. He could survive the setback of another set of ribbons, but, perhaps, he would be deemed incorrigible, unteachable. 

At least Ukitake seemed to be the more kindhearted of the two. With luck, the punishment would not be a swift return to the Maggot’s Nest, but something more bearable. Were there worse things that could be seen as a kindness? Sōsuke had read of permanent seals--perhaps they were mere fiction, but the idea that his powers could be taken from him for good terrified him completely.

“Are you afraid of me?” Ukitake asked. Sounding startled and horrified at the idea, he let Sōsuke’s hands go. Kneeling down, as though for a small child, he tried to look into Sōsuke’s face, but Sōsuke wouldn’t meet his eye. “Why are you so afraid?”

The stock pot rattled as it began to boil over.

Still frozen, Sōsuke had no idea what to say that wouldn’t get him in trouble. He glanced at the pot on the stove. “Dinner will be ruined, sir.”

“Are you not being treated well?”

The pot’s insistent rattling finally broke through Sōsuke’s inability to move, and he turned away to remove it from the heat. The familiar acts of food preparation calmed Sōsuke and he was able to keep his hands from shaking as he picked up the knife and went back to the cabbage. 

“I have no complaints,” he was able to say after a few seconds of chopping. 

Sōsuke was sure it sounded like a lie, since it was one, but telling Ukitake that he hated Onigawa for everything she’d done and even more so for all the things she hadn’t, wouldn’t go over well. This was the man who was so convinced that Onigawa was a good teacher and that Sōsuke’s time here would be ‘fun.’ He wanted to leave it there, but, surely, he had to say something more to explain his behavior--but, what? 

“I’m not afraid, sir; I’m embarrassed. I should have made more progress by now.”

“Is that really it?”

Sōsuke had no idea what to do with the uncertainty in Ukitake’s voice. If only he could turn and smile in some reassuring way, but everyone at the temple told him that his smiles looked like smirks… or something worse. So, he kept his face turned away and said, “Yes, sir. I failed. I’ve disappointed you.”

The hug took him by surprise and he dropped the knife with a clatter. “Oh, Sōsuke-chan! You’ll never disappoint me.”

Sōsuke frowned. 

That seemed like an extremely foolish promise to make, and one that would be swiftly broken.

#

When dinner was finally laid out, Sōsuke had hoped that the worst of it was over.

However, almost immediately after saying grace over the food, Ukitake turned to Onigawa. “How is Sōsuke progressing with his studies? Do you have a timeline for when you think he might be ready to have the cuffs removed?”

Onigawa shot Sōsuke a dark look and he winced. 

He wanted to send her the telepathic message that this line of questioning was _not_ his idea. “Ukitake-dono,” Sōsuke interjected quickly, “I told you that I’m quite satisfied here. It’s not my teacher who has failed me, but I who have failed my teacher.”

“Wow, listen to you, kiddo,” Onigawa said, digging into the rice. “I tell you, those monks have been amazing for his attitude.”

Ukitake’s dark eyebrows went up. He lowered the sake bowl he’d been bringing to his lips. Cradling it in his lap, he leaned in, his glance bouncing between them. “Sōsuke-kun previously had a poor attitude?”

Onigawa snorted a laugh. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“I’m very…” Sōsuke weighed his options, but decided that Ukitake had likely read the reports sent to Kyōraku, “...er, overly ambitious.”

“I’d say ‘dangerously,’ but the kid’s being honest, at least,” Onigawa said, helping herself to a second bowl of sake. 

“Is ambition bad?” Ukitake asked. 

Sōsuke held his breath. Ukitake’s line of questioning could be an opening. Perhaps, he, too, felt that ambitions should be explored to the fullest?

Sōsuke set down his chopsticks. The three of them sat around a small, low table that Onigawa had pulled from storage, along with the fancier dishes and bowls. Both adults sat cross-legged, but Sōsuke had gotten used to seiza at the temple. Plus, his slight elevation made it easier for him to serve the others--not that Onigawa stood on any kind of ceremony; she took what she wanted when she wanted it.

Onigawa snorted, “Ambition isn’t bad. Obsession is! How many times did you break your wrists before Hachimura put those extra restraints on?” Onigawa turned to Sōsuke pointedly. 

Sōsuke’s jaw flexed. This was the very bit of information that had gotten him in trouble last time he’d been asked. Even so, he refused to say more than: “A few.”

“Eight,” Onigawa told Ukitake. “Eight times, this kid snapped his own wrists pushing the limits of those manacles. Do you know how far you have to go to actually get the manacles to crush bone? Eight damn times he did this!”

And those were only the times she knew about. 

“What were you after?” Ukitake turned to Sōsuke, horrified.

“Um… Hadō 32, I think? Or perhaps the Bakudō of the same number? I mean they’re essentially the same thing, being two sides of single process….” Of course, he’d long surpassed 32. That was some time ago. Sōsuke’s current limit was as far as Onigawa’s books could bring him, which stopped at 50. He couldn’t do any of those very well, however. Not yet, anyway.

“32! Were you… defending someone? Did a Hollow attack?” Ukitake gripped is sake bowl tightly in his lap, his food forgotten.

Oh. 

Sōsuke shot Onigawa a hard glare. He was not surprised to see her knowing smirk in return. She’d set him up. 

He’d stumbled right into the trap, no less.

He bowed his head in defeat. “No, sir. I just wanted to see if I could do it.”

“You broke your wrists because….” Ukitake seemed at a loss for words. “Eight times? You broke your own wrists _eight times_ just to see if a thing was possible?”

Hadn’t he just said so? 

Clearly, they had stumbled back onto dangerous ground again. He needed to show remorse at the very least, wasn’t that what the shinigami with the ribbons, Yadōmaru, had said? Sōsuke kept his eyes trained on his lap; his head stayed deeply bowed. How did one express remorse, exactly? Did one just say ‘I feel great remorse’ or was that too pat, too textbook perfect? Should he apologize? When someone was remorseful, what did that expression look even like on their faces? 

Outright lying about the incident, with Onigawa present, however, was not an option.

“Yes,” Sōsuke breathed out, shakily. His fear, at least, was real enough. “Yes, sir, and it was a grave mistake.”

Sōsuke stopped short of saying he was sorry, because that was a lie and Onigawa might call him on it.

Sōsuke could feel all eyes on him, but he dared not look up or even breathe. 

“This is what you were afraid I’d find out,” Ukitake determined far too quickly and far too accurately for Sōsuke’s liking. Ukitake’s tone instantly shifted to disappointment and concern. “Oh, Sōsuke-kun. You can’t be hurting yourself like that.”

Obviously, he could since he _had_ , but that wasn’t what he should say here. 

“I have a lot of… remorse.” Ugh, that sounded as awkward as he’d feared. Sōsuke buried his face in his hands. He had to get this right. Maybe he could directly appeal to Ukitake’s sympathy? “I understand that I’m troublesome, sir, but please don’t send me back to the Maggot’s Nest.”

A hand rested on Sōsuke’s knee making him jump. “No one is talking about that, Sosuke,” Ukitake’s voice was soft, but firm. “I need to understand, though. Why? Why would you hurt yourself like that?”

Sōsuke felt cornered. He had no idea what the right answer was. He glanced up, automatically looking to Onigawa for help. 

Onigawa shook her head. “Frankly, that’s what I want to know, too. And tell the truth for once, Sōsuke, not all this bullshit you think we want to hear.”

Sōsuke shook his head in mute frustration. “You want the truth about why I keep pushing the boundaries?” They both nodded seriously. Even Onigawa lowered her chopsticks expectantly. They weren’t going to like the truthful answer. They might not even believe him. Sōsuke sucked in a breath. “Because they’re there.”

He could see from their expressions that he’d have to explain it better, though, how, he had no idea. What had always been strange to Sōsuke was why this was even a question at all to other people. Why would you not explore the edges of things? Look over the precipice, if you were standing on the pinnacle?

“Kidō is like…” he looked at Ukitake and thought maybe there was an easy metaphor that they might have in common, “...learning to read Kanji. Each spell is like a character. The more I learn, the more the whole story is revealed.” He didn’t feel like he was getting through to them how insanely amazing that was, so he tried to use his hands to indicate the expansiveness of that feeling--how uplifting it felt. “If you told me I had to walk over a field of broken glass to get the next Kanji, I wouldn’t just walk, I would _run_. Because what’s more important? The pain, which is temporary--glass can be removed, feet will heal--or the word, which is a key to… everything. Every. Thing. I mean, Kidō, it’s language the world is written in, it’s the… web, the fabric that’s the foundation of… all the worlds.” 

Sōsuke glanced between the two, wondering if he’d made any sense. Surely, they shared his sense of wonder, his breathless enthusiasm for the sheer amazingness of magic.

Onigawa frowned, deeply. She seemed to be literally chewing on something, as well. At a guess, she was unhappy.

Ukitake’s expression, while open, seemed more baffled. He was the first one to speak, “Earlier… did you imply that Hadō and Bakudō were the same somehow?”

Was this not obvious? 

Could this be some kind of test? If so, which was failure: knowing or not knowing?

Surely, telling the truth was the right choice?

“Well, yes, sir. They’re like on and off, night and day, light and dark, Hadō and Bakudō,” Sōsuke shrugged. “The elements are the same, it’s just the… direction you push things?” He was reduced to making hand motions again. “You know how there’s an object, like a tree, and, when the sun is shining, one side is light and the other shadow? All Kidō is like that--Hadō and Bakudō are singular building blocks of different shaped… objects… around which you bend… things--power, maybe? The direction you… push...? depends on if you want to attack or defend. So, you see, they’re the same, just… different.”

Gah. Why were words so hard when the concepts were so simple?

“Now you see why he’s scary, don’t you, Jūshirō?” Onigawa said. “I’m pretty sure that’s the basis of someone’s thesis work right there. And, he’s what? Thirteen?”

“I guess I’m glad we brought him here to you,” Ukitake breathed.

This was not the reaction Sōsuke had hoped for. Once again, somehow, the trap was knowing something that seemed patently obvious. Worse, Onigawa called him scary again--which was different than ‘monster’ but essentially the same. 

Meanwhile, Ukitake seemed happily… baffled.

Picking up his chopsticks, Sōsuke poked at the chicken in his bowl. It smelled delicious, but he wasn’t sure he was hungry for it any more. He’d finally told what everyone wanted to know and all he got for it was insults and blank looks.

Maybe he hadn’t expressed himself properly. Next time, he’d use more words--more precise words.

He felt strangely brokenhearted that Ukitake, in particular, whom he admired so much, seemed not in the least bit excited by how Kidō and the world interacted. In fact, Sōsuke had yet to find _anyone_ who shared his passion. 

He was beginning to feel rather… alone.

The closest he had was a calligraphy teacher, who, sadly, had the reiatsu signature of a pea. They could enthuse all night about the beauty of the language, but Sōsuke had no one to talk to about the greatest joy of his life: reiatsu.

In fact, all anyone seemed to want to do was keep him from it.

As if on cue, Onigawa said: “You can understand why I’ve been trying to retard Sōsuke’s progress. He needs to understand when to stop, not run full tilt into that ‘field of broken glass.’”

“Yes, of course,” Ukitake agreed. “It’s better, too, I’d imagine, to fully understand where you are before you push forward so far, so fast.”

Sōsuke would argue that it was fairly obvious, given the previous ‘thesis’ comment from Onigawa, that he certainly understood more about Kidō on an intuitive level than the most advanced students, but the monastery had taught him the value of keeping his own counsel. 

He took a bite of his chicken. Mmm, disappointingly, it needed something. More salt?

“Shall I fetch the salt grinder?” Sōsuke offered. “Maybe the pepper as well.”

He started to get up despite the lack of response, but Onigawa was giving him a funny look. He lowered himself back down into seiza, deliberately and warily.

“Sensei?”

“You’re not going to argue?”

Sōsuke glanced between her and Ukitake, trying to gauge if this was some other clever conversational trap. “Argue which point?”

“Aw, c’mon, kid,” Onigawa said. “You hate it when I remind you that I stopped teaching you. You hate the reason even more.”

All that was true, and he hated her even more deeply for not valuing his strength, but Sōsuke couldn’t see the sense in going over that again. 

Besides, she’d already gotten him to admit all this and more. 

Feeling cornered, Sōsuke opted for the truth. “I’m sorry, Sensei. I don’t understand what you want from me right now.”

“This could use a bit of salt,” Ukitake admitted with an embarrassed glance. “I mean… it’s very good otherwise, really! This rice is amazing! It’s my fault that I distracted you while you were cooking the chicken.”

That was all the excuse Sōsuke needed to escape into the kitchen to fetch the salt.

#

As he’d hoped, by the time Sōsuke returned with the salt, the conversation had shifted to other things. There was some sort of urgency to Ukitake gaining bankai, something about a superior officer who was quite ill… or possibly already dead; Sōsuke was so relieved to have removed the spotlight from himself, he wasn’t paying the best attention.

Besides, the events in the Seireitei were so distant and foreign.

Sōsuke's current concern was simple: survive this visit.

Onigawa clearly intended to use Ukitake’s presence to try to get Sōsuke to admit to… something. Overreaching, at the very least, he supposed. And, he’d fallen right into that. But, she must want to prove him rotten in some other way, but what, and to what end? 

If she suspected that Sōsuke was continuing to overwhelm his manacles, she could simply test them herself, couldn’t she? Perhaps she wanted Ukitake to have a reason to do it himself.

Sōsuke watched Ukitake’s dynamic expressions as he regaled them with some story or other about the antics of his Division’s soldiers. Apparently, one pair had brought their mother into Seireitei with them and she kept turning up at headquarters with homemade food for them to share with their friends. He clearly had deep affection not only for those two, but all of the people under his command.

As the conversation wound down, Sōsuke started gathering plates. 

Ukitake immediately jumped up. “Let me help with that.”

Thank the gods that the monks had taught Sōsuke that even if you knew the other person would slow you down or be in the way, the only appropriate response was a smile and, “Thank you very much, sir. That would be greatly appreciated.”

Clearly, the additional burden of this visit for Sōsuke was having to perform ‘normal.’ Sōsuke knew he wasn’t good at it, but the monks, at least, assumed any breach in expected behavior was due to being foreign-born and a slave.

Why they had all collectively agreed he was a foreigner, Sōsuke had no idea. 

Ukitake, unfortunately, knew better. He’d be much more likely to jump to the same conclusion that Onigawa had that day Sōsuke had attempted to cut the string of her necklace--that he was a monster of some kind, maladjusted beyond repair from having spent his formative years in prison.

Worse, it was clear that it wouldn’t take that much to convince Ukitake. Otherwise, he’d have not assumed the worst when he’d seen the bloodied knife.

Sōsuke pulled in a meditative breath as he stacked the dirty dishes near the wash tub. “If you’d like to work the pump, I can get the soap,” he offered.

Ukitake seemed delighted to have been given a task.

“When the tub is filled, you can wash,” Sōsuke determined. “I know where things go, so it will be most efficient if I do the drying and putting away.”

And then hopefully, after that, Ukitake would retire to the living room? Sōsuke had a ton of chores to get to before the end of the day. Having someone shadowing him the entire time would be… well, it would be maddening, but he was going to have to act like it didn’t bother him, which made everything so much worse. At least, the people at the monastery had gotten used to the idea that Sōsuke was accustomed to doing labor on his own and so they excused his occasional snappishness.

He could just tell by how enthusiastically Ukitake pumped the water, that Ukitake was the sort who would be hurt--terribly hurt--if he was told he would be of the most help if he would just kindly get out of the way.

Breathe.

Breathe and strategize. 

As he dried the dishes, Sōsuke came up with a list of things that would keep Ukitake happily occupied. He thought back to his first days at Onigawa and the tasks she’d set for him. Feeding the chickens took no specialized knowledge; it did not have to be done in any particular way. Ukitake would likely enjoy it, too, as he seemed to have a fondness for animals. There were other simple tasks, too, that if Ukitake wished, Sōsuke could offer: sweeping the front walk, bringing the day’s laundry in off the lines, and simple things like this.

Just having a plan made Sōsuke’s shoulders relax. 

“You’re very quiet, aren’t you?” Ukitake asked, handing Sōsuke the last of the pots to dry.

Ah, damn it. Of course, the next big hurdle: casual conversation. How Sōsuke loathed it! Yet, it was clearly an important part of passing as “normal.” He took a small breath, “Sorry, I suspect that’s the influence of the monastery.” Ukitake still had a slight crease of concern between his brows, so Sōsuke smiled and added, “Besides, you know Onigawa-sensei. Once she gets going, there’s no point in trying to get a word in edgewise.”

Ukitake laughed at that, just as, from the other room, Onigawa shouted, “I can hear you, you know, you little brat!”

That made Ukitake laugh so hard he started to cough, but after he recovered, he wheezed out a happy: “Accurate, though!”

Sōsuke didn’t let the silence that followed linger too long before offering, “You can help me with the chickens, if you like, sir. I can tell you about what I’ve been learning about calligraphy.” That seemed safe, though Ukitake looked a little disinterested. Hmmm… Sōsuke quickly offered another option: “Or…. I could talk about the novels I’ve been reading?”

“Oh? Novels? Do tell!”

Finally. Something safe, and it was a subject Sōsuke could easily wax enthusiastic about, all night long, if needed….

#

That night, Sōsuke fell into his bed roll exhausted from the effort of being sociable. He woke the next day, however, mentally prepared to do it all again.

Fortunately, Ukitake had already lost interest in playing at being a servant. He joined Onigawa for long quiet talks huddled near the irori, leaving Sōsuke to do his chores unimpeded. From what Sōsuke could tell from the snatches of conversations he overheard in-between his various duties, Onigawa would start building the barrier tomorrow. 

It would take a bit of time to be fully charged, but Ukitake could start sitting some kind of mediation immediately.

_Jinzen._

‘Sword Zen.’

A strange concept, and one Sōsuke spent a lot of time thinking about while he went about his daily work. 

He’d noted a certain ‘taste’ to the the reiatsu of their previous high-level shinigami visitor--the non-captain captain-level Lieutenant Sasakibe. Electric. Coppery.

Ukitake had his own reiatsu signature, too, though much of it was masked by the dark god that dwelled inside him. Still, Sōsuke associated Ukitake with the smell of sea salt and a brewing storm. Something both wild and with a deep, fathomless calm, all at once.

For the first time, Sōsuke was beginning to suspect that this might have something to do with the katana the shinigami always carried, the weapon they called zanpakutō.

Perhaps... Kidō was not the _only_ avenue for reiatsu manipulation and power.

Sōsuke cleaned and trimmed the matsutake mushrooms that he’d harvested on the trip back from the temple. Finding them in the shaded pine grove had been quite the fortune, as he’d seen them on sale in the market for a lot of money. He hoped to make _matsutake dobin mushi_ , a soup, from them, but Onigawa didn’t have the traditional teapots the dish was normally served in. A mix of pots would have to do. 

He wasn’t sure how well he remembered the recipe, having only seen it in passing in the Temple’s archive. He’d stopped to read it because he’d recognized the name of the mushroom and the accompanying illustration, having just seen the outrageous prices at the market that morning with the cook, Date, who’d passed them by as “too fancy for our lot.”

Closing his eyes, Sōsuke recalled the slender volume of a book entitled ‘Wild Mushrooms: Identifying and Preparing.” The book had smelled slightly of red rot, a sure sign that it would need to be recopied. Sōsuke had flipped through it, trying to determine if he had the necessary skills. Alas, he was not much for illustrations. He was about to place the book in the pile to be passed to their most skilled copyists when the word ‘matsutake’ jumped out at him. He’d flipped the pages back and read the entry.

Mmmm, yes, it was returning to him. He’d need the mushrooms, of course, cut lengthwise, a splash of sake, the leftover chicken meat… fish cake, which they had, shrimp, which they didn’t… ginkgo nuts, dashi, and soy sauce… yes, he could reconstruct this close enough, perhaps he could substitute some seasonal vegetable for the shrimp? 

He set the ginkgo nuts boiling in salted water, and headed out the back to the storage cellar to see what might work. 

When he saw Ukitake-dono sitting on the back stoop feeding the chickens in a desultory fashion, Sōsuke paused. The naked blade of the zanpakutō lay across Ukitake’s lap. The sunlight shimmered along the sharp edge and, for a moment, Sōsuke thought… it was alive.

No, not “it.” _They_.

Ukitake must have sense’s Sōsuke’s interest, because he turned to glance up the steps. “Oh, Sōsuke-kun!” Then he looked at the gathered, greedy chickens clucking happily at his feet with a kind of embarrassed, guilty smile and said, “Um, it’s all right for me to feed them, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t really. They should be hunting up the last of bugs from the garden; rice was a winter store. But, this was Sōsuke’s own fault. He’d shown the lieutenant where to find the rice and how to gather the hens to him with a shake of the bag. “It’s fine.”

“It’s really not,” Ukitake guessed. 

How was he able to do that? “Did my expression give something away?”

Ukitake laughed kindly. “You could say so, yes.”

“Oh.” Sōsuke was disappointed. He thought he’d been getting better at that. “The chickens will be fine. A little spoiled is all. It’s still warm enough for them to hunt up their own food in the garden. Normally, rice is a treat. Or saved for the winter.”

“I see,” Ukitake said in a kind of awed tone, as if Sōsuke were passing on some kind of arcane knowledge. 

The zanpakutō appeared delighted, too. Something about the light dancing along the edge, seemed reminiscent of the laughter of… of _children_?

No, Ukitake must have shifted his knees. How could a weapon be a living thing?

To cover his awkwardness, Sōsuke asked, “Is there a vegetable that might replace shrimp in a recipe? I haven’t any idea what it tastes like. Will it be too critical to the flavor to substitute with a sweet potato?”

“What are you making?”

“A mushroom soup,” Sōsuke said, trying to decide if he could step around Ukitake and his zanpakutō to get to the pantry. For some reason, he felt as though the blade might make some kind of mad dash to try to trip him, like some of the children had in the Maggot's Nest. So, he stepped back instead. “Ah, yes, good point. Probably not a sweet potato, that wouldn’t compliment the matsutake. Something less overpowering. Zucchini, perhaps?”

Ukitake appeared to notice that Sōsuke’s attention was focused on the zanpakutō. Standing up, he sheathed the blade in a swift, practiced movement. “Ah, my apologies! Sōgyo no Kotowari are in a terrible mood today.”

“Terrible?” Sōsuke said unthinkingly, “Surely, you mean ‘mischievous,’ sir.”

Dark eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Mischievous is… quite a bit more accurate, yes.” Despite that disarming smile, Ukitake’s gaze was penetrating and Sōsuke had to resist stepping back further. “May I ask why you chose that word, in particular?”

Sōsuke wanted to say ‘no. No, you may not ask,’ but there were so many reasons he couldn’t refuse to answer, especially not to this man. But those reasons were also exactly why Sōsuke would prefer to stay silent on the subject. 

Did zanpakutō speak? Should he admit to thinking they had?

Or was this some other power he shouldn’t have?

Finally, Sōsuke simply said, “I don’t know, sir. My words just came out.”

Ukitake deflated, like he was disappointed. He slumped back down onto the stoop. “Ah, alas. It was silly to think a stranger had some deeper insight into Sōgyo no Kotowari than I do.”

It seemed clear to Sōsuke that Ukitake wished to be left alone with his thoughts, so, as unobtrusively as he could, Sōsuke fetched the zucchini and went about the business of making the soup. 

As he did, he turned the words over and over in his head: Sōgyo no Kotowari.

After delivering a teapot and bowl to Onigawa where she sat silently, deep in some kind of pre-spellwork meditation in the field in front of the cottage, Sōsuke brought his own and Ukitake’s to the back porch. The lieutenant was still flinging bits of rice to the now mostly uninterested chicken.

Sōsuke cleared his throat and handed the teapot to Ukitake with a bow. Tentatively, he sat down beside the lieutenant. “Normally, I’m quite good at word puzzles,” Sōsuke offered. “But I don’t understand yours.”

Ukitake looked up from his soup quizzically. He’d been pouring out a bit of the broth into the bowl. “What puzzle?”

“Sōgyo no Kotowari,” Sōsuke said, carefully pronouncing the syllables. “Twin Fish’s law? The truth of... Pisces? I mean, I’m only guessing at the Kanji, of course. Regardless, I can’t figure out the riddle. What is the law of fishes?”

“Oh, I… hmmm,” he frowned in thought as he took a sip of the broth. Tasting it, his face transformed into a big smile. “This is quite good! Sōsuke-kun! You’re a budding chef!”

“Thank you, sir. I’m honored you enjoy my humble meal,” he said, somewhat perfunctorily. Frankly, he would rather die than spend his life cooking, particularly for others. That last part always reminded him that he was often no more than a servant, a slave. “But, back to the riddle? The only ‘truth’ I know about fish is that they have to live under water; they can’t breathe air.”

“Well, I mean, that does apply to my life, in a way,” Ukitake noted, thumping his chest with a fist. 

At first Sōsuke was confused, but then he remembered the coughing fits. But… “Oh, I see. The puzzle’s answer involves something about you? So… the truth of the fish exists within you?”

“You’ve certainly got part of that right,” Ukitake said with a smile. He reached out and ruffled Sōsuke’s curls. “But, Sōgyo no Kotowari is just a name.”

Sōsuke pulled out a bit of chicken and a zucchini with his chopsticks. He couldn’t quite hide his disappointment as he jabbed at a few more vegetables. “So you _don’t_ know what the law of the fishes is.”

“I do so!” Ukitake sputtered, his pout very child-like. “I… mmm, well, it’s not just ‘fishes,’ but twin fish. That’s important. Double fish are a sign of luck, prosperity, fertility.... Though that last…. Mmm, well..” A slight flush coloured his cheeks and he looked away.

Sōsuke pressed his lips together tightly, in order to keep his thoughts to himself. Men could certainly be fertile, and fertility didn’t always have to mean babies. Why any of this would embarrass an adult, he had no idea. 

Sex, probably.

“Right,” Sōsuke said, anxious to get back to the point. “So, I’ve got the riddle wrong. Twin fishes. Very well, so the law is _not_ the law of fishes, but the law of luck, of fortune. So then, tell me, Ukitake-dono, what is the law of luck?”

This Ukitake answered without hesitation: “You make your own, what you give out returns to you, and what you're given you should return.”

Sōsuke sipped a bit of broth, considering this answer. He was glad to hear that, in Ukitake’s mind, at least, luck was not bound to fate. He _hated_ fate. 

Glancing over at where the hilt of the zanpakutō could be seen at Ukitake’s hip, Sōsuke wondered aloud, “The spirit of the weapon is lucky fish. Does that mean all your battles are lucky?”

“No battle is ever fortunate,” Ukitake said with a sudden seriousness. “The best luck is to never have to draw your weapon at all.”

That sounded far too much like something Onigawa would say for Sōsuke’s liking. What was the point of power, if you never used it? He nodded because it seemed this was a lesson that he was supposed to understand, “Yes, sir. Of course.”

Ukitake smiled at that, and patted Sōsuke’s knee. “Perhaps you’d like to sit jinzen with me?”

“Can I?” Sōsuke was floored by this invitation. He’d assumed his only role in all of this was to stay as much out of the way as possible. Onigawa had rarely given him an opportunity like this. It made him breathless, to be treated like a real pupil, a student worth teaching. There was only one flaw. “But... I don’t have a zanpakutō.”

“Yet it’s so very clear you will some day,” Ukitake said sagely. Then, he seemed to come to some silent conclusion with a shrug. “My understanding is that lacking one will only mean that you can’t directly commune. You should still be able to clear the pathway and invite your spirit to visit you in your dreams.”

“So… the zanpaukutō is a living soul, after all.”

Ukitake nodded. “Yes. It’s your soul… mostly. It’s the bits that make you complete.” He blinked, as if surprised by his own certainty. “Er… well, I mean, perhaps that’s a bit romantic. But, that’s how I like to think of it.”

This was a curious bit of information. 

Sōsuke had always assumed that the things that he found difficult--things that other people implied were natural, innate--were due some failing of his own. Yes, it was true that he’d always thought of this in terms of “something missing” in his personality or nature, but it had never occurred to him that there was a solution to his problem…. Or rather, that it could be fixed by an object, something outside of himself.

It had also never crossed his mind that he might not be the only one who struggled like this.

“Every shinigami experiences this?” Sōsuke asked. “That their zanpakutō… what? Fills… holes?”

Ukitake’s eyebrows did a little dance of uncomfortable uncertainty. But, he smiled when he said: “I hope so.”

Sōsuke nodded as he absorbed this information. Finishing up the last of the mushroom soup, he thought of the monks at the temple. None of them were shinigami, though the cook had tried to become one. Did the people who didn’t get a zanpakutō stay unwhole? What of Onigawa, then? What was she? 

He turned to look at Ukitake, who was making happy noises with each bite of food, and asked, “Can you fill the space that a zanpakutō should occupy with something else?”

Ukitake set the teapot in his lap. “What do you mean? What else is there?”

“That what I don’t know,” Sōsuke said. “If zanpakutō completes a soul, how do those without a zanpakutō become whole? Is there something else for them? Or are they forever without?”

Something in what Sōsuke asked made Ukitake sigh and look out over the roof of the chicken coop at the wide, cloudless sky for several beats. “There are,” he admitted softly, “a lot of hungry souls.”

This is what made people hungry? A zanpakutō was what they starved for?

All of them?

“But, Onigawa-sensei has no zanpakutō,” Sōsuke said slowly, as he thought things through out loud. “Did she chose not to become whole for some reason? What advantage is there to staying incomplete? Does refusing have a power of its own? Is the… hole its own source of--?”

Ukitake winced and raised a hand for Sōsuke to stop. “Let’s not speak of it as a ‘hole.’”

Why not? But, Sōsuke dipped his head in aquiessence. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Reaching to pick up the empty pots and bowls, Ukitake stood up. “I can wash, if you’ll dry.”

The conversation was over? Because Sōsuke had used the term ‘hole’ to describe the missing part that a zanpakutō filled?

_That_ was certainly something Sōsuke would not forget. There was, it seemed clear, a connection to holes and zanpakutō that even the kindest, most open shinigami would _not_ discuss.

Obviously, it was important.

Possibly a key.

Sōsuke bowed his head and gave up on the subject… for now. Pulling himself to his feet, he followed Ukitake to the kitchen. “Yes, thank you, sir. That would be most kind.”

#

That evening passed pleasantly enough. Sōsuke made a simple oden, a simmered soup with whatever looked like it might not last the winter. Despite being very sick of the taste of eggs, Sōsuke soft boiled a few to add to the dish.

When he brought the bowls out to the main room, Ukitake and Onigawa seemed to be… arguing?

No, it was more that Onigawa was bristling about something--perhaps the fact that the barrier was taking a little longer for her to establish than she’d originally estimated? Seeing Sōsuke, she added, “And what are you thinking, considering having him sit jinzen with you? Are you trying to make him sick?”

“Sick?” Ukitake took the bowl Sōsuke offered with a smile. “I really don’t think that’s a real concern, do you?”

“He’s no more than thirteen,” she snarled, as she shoveled the oden into her mouth with her chopsticks. “How long until Academy? You going to let the need for a zanpakuto fester in that little powder keg,” she jerked her chin in Sōsuke’s direction, “for half a decade--or more? Are you nuts?”

Since he was the topic of conversation, Sōsuke considered taking his bowl over to where he kept his bedroll in the corner of the room, near the door, but Ukitake patted the spot beside him. Reluctantly, Sōsuke joined them around the irori.

“There’s no hard rule about when a person can apply to Academy,” Ukitake reminded her patiently. “If the need drives him, then he’s ready. It’s really that simple.”

She seemed, if anything, more annoyed by that reply. “I can’t believe we’re weaponizing him at all.”

Ukitake frowned. “Now, now,” he cajoled. “Military discipline corrects for a lot of… issues. And, really, I just don’t see the problem. Sōsuke seems like a very good boy.”

Sōsuke kept his head down, focused on his soup. It warmed him to hear this somewhat banal, unspecific praise, but, winter winds were blowing. This was not the time to contradict Onigawa.

“He was going to bury me in the compost pile.”

“Only because the ground was frozen,” Sōsuke said automatically. “It’s hardly practical to keep a rotting corpse near the fire, unless you imagine me some kind of cannibal, as well.”

“Um,” Ukitake coughed. “What?”

Onigawa laughed, rudely pointing at Sōsuke with her chopsticks. “See!”

Sōsuke rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. Feebly, he muttered, “I was never intending to kill you, Sensei. But, honest to gods, why would I do it in the middle of winter when the snow piles had drifted all the way up to the eaves? If I was going to murder anyone, Spring makes far more sense. I could remove the cuffs, bury sensei somewhere no one would find the body, and take off with a caravan of merchants.”

“Your reiatsu would atomize them, you moron,” Onigawa snapped back. “And alert the shinigami patrol station. Give it a fucking try, you little sociopath! You’d be back in the Nest so fast heads would spin.”

Sōsuke was sorely tempted.

Ukitake raised his hands for peace. “I _think_ this is all hypothetical…? No one is planning on murder, right?” He turned his steady sea green gaze to Sōsuke.

“Of course not,” Sōsuke said, irritated that he even needed to confirm that. If he’d wanted to kill Onigawa, he’d had plenty of opportunity. “Besides, murder is hardly necessary. The temple monks would love to liberate me from slavery. I need only to ask.”

“You little shit,” Onigawa spat at the same time that Ukitake asked, “I’m sorry, what?”

Had Onigawa never explained their ruse? 

Ukitake looked between the two of them, expectantly. Sōsuke wasn’t about to say anything. Let Onigawa explain her reasoning. The fire crackled in the silence that stretched between them.

“Are you saying that..?” Ukitake started, but then turned his attention to Onigawa. “Sensei? What _is_ he saying?”

“It was an easy lie, alright? And then we were stuck with it,” she grumbled. “How would you have explained the handcuffs, huh? It’s what I thought was going on when you first brought him here. Anyway, I’m not supposed to take on students and you know that.” She slammed her bowl down onto the tatami. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she turned her head away to stare angrily at the wall. “So everyone thinks I bought him, so what? It’s what you and your lover did. What’s the damn difference?”

She did have a point. Sōsuke had been bought and paid for from the Maggot’s Nest... and Kyōraku continued to pay maintenance. Feigning interest in his food, Sōsuke held his breath, curious how Ukitake would respond.

Ukitake’s face contorted, but in the end he let out a sigh. “I… suppose it doesn’t really do any harm.”

Sōsuke’s shoulders dropped and he went back to eating in earnest. _No harm_ , eh? 

Well, perhaps not. It was little more than a lie for convenience’s sake, after all. So far, Sōsuke had never been stopped by a magistrate on his way to or from the temple. He had no idea what he might face if he were, what the punishment for being a runaway slave might be. If anything, the monks treated him kinder, thinking he was being worked to the bone at Onigawa’s, though even they could sense that he must be valuable for the magic he had--even if they assumed it came from being foreign-born. 

“Right,” Onigawa said with a huff. “It’s only my reputation, which is already shit, anyway.”

“Oh, come now, Sensei…” Ukitake reached out to comfort Onigawa.

The conversation shifted to Onigawa’s days as the Kidō Commander then, with Ukitake supplying stories from his memories of her that were clearly meant to repair her ego. Sōsuke tuned it out. When he finished eating, he gathered up the dishes. When he finished washing those, he’d get the bed rolls out. 

With winter slowing his chores, at least he would have some time to read tonight.

#

The next morning Onigawa pulled herself out of bed a few minutes after Sōsuke had awoken to feed the chickens and start water for tea boiling. He froze, worrying that he’d been the cause of her premature wakefulness, but she just nodded at the pot he was filling. “Bring a fucking ton of that stuff to the fields, would you? I’m gonna need it.”

Ukitake stirred at the snap in her voice. “Mmm?”

Sōsuke took Onigawa’s arm and hustled her out the front door so as not to wake Ukitake any further. He kept his voice down. “I’ll bring breakfast as well, if you like.”

“Piss off. I don’t need your little grubby hands on me,” she gave him a little push, as she grumped her way towards the open grass, already covered in a thin layer of frost. “Make a hearty porridge, would ya? And don’t skimp on the ingredients for once!”

He nodded, giving her a deep bow.

 _Winter Onigawa was the worst_ , he sighed inwardly. At least she would be occupied with the barrier for the day. 

And he had jinzen to look forward to.

#

As it happened, sitting jinzen with Ukitake was fascinating.

They sat in the back, not far from the garden, but with a view of the mountain range. For some reason, Ukitake--or perhaps it was Sōgyo no Kotowari--liked being near the chicken coop. Or, perhaps, Ukitake just wanted to give Onigawa all the space she needed at the front of the cottage to build the barrier.

The garden was exhausted of most of its usefulness. The only crop now was a cover of winter rye, as it would fix the soil with nutrients for the next growing season. This morning, a bone-deep chill permeated the air, so much so that Ukitake had bought out a heavy blanket to wrap around his shoulders. Sōsuke had a scarf tucked around his neck.

“Extend your reiatsu until you can feel mine,” Ukitake said. “Then see if you can follow where I go.”

Sōsuke was being allowed to project his reiatsu--to admit he had that ability, despite the manacles?

“Go ahead,” Ukitake encouraged. 

Sōsuke carefully allowed the smallest amount of reiatsu to brush up against Ukitake’s

“Oh!” Ukitake said the instant their reiatsu met, “I should have known you’d have such a strong, solid presence. Onigawa is your teacher, after all.”

Ah, even this tiny eke was considered powerful. Sōsuke would have to remember that.

Ukitake continued to nod to himself. “Yes, good, good. This should be no trouble for you, then. She’s had you shadow her reiatsu before, of course, to understand how Kidō works?”

Once. That time she built a barrier so that he could remove the grit from his cuffs, she had allowed him to see and feel it. But at least Sōsuke could honestly say, “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent,” Ukitake closed his eyes and put his hands on the blade he’d laid across his lap. “Follow as best you can.”

The only real experience Sōsuke had with this sort of thing, however, was mediating with the monks. He found he could sense Ukitake’s reiatsu mingling with that of his zanpakutō, but if there was more to it than that, Sōsuke couldn’t truly ‘follow.’

But, even so, seeing the relationship between the two… no, _four_ of them in his mind’s eye was fascinating. 

The old god was an inky presence that filled Ukitake’s lungs and spread throughout him like a dark disease. Its reiatsu impossible to ignore, but, at the same time, the power there was clearly slumbering, inactive. 

Mostly.

Sōsuke got the distinct impression that the god… watched him. The gaze felt decidedly inhuman, but intelligent--like a tiger watching its prey.

There was something else, too. A longing… as if the god, as well, was missing some part of themselves.

Did gods have zanpakutō? Holes to be filled?

Sōsuke put that question aside for the moment, as he had a zanpakutō spirit… no, again, spirits to observe firsthand. The twin spirits that rose up out of the zanpakutō appeared to Sōsuke as the kind of sparkly wave of sunlight on water. They flowed up out of the blade to amass at a spot on Ukitake’s forehead, where a third eye might be. 

They swirled in the distinct shape of a sphere, forming a sort of swirling ball of slightly different colors, reminiscent of yin-yang. But the energy didn’t float on the surface of Ukitake’s body, it occupied a recess… like a round peg that filled an empty space, a _hole_. 

This hole, it seemed, wasn’t metaphorical.

Surely, Sōsuke was not the first to ‘see’ this phenomenon. It must be known to others. Even Ukitake implied that other shinigami felt completed by their zanpakutō. So then, why was ‘hole’ such a dirty word--something not to be spoken of, even in the privacy of the backyard of a lonely cottage in the forgotten recesses of the Rukongai?

A chicken pecked at the small of Sōsuke’s back, disrupting his concentration. He shooed the hen away with his hand, but it was too late. The contact was broken. With a sigh, Sōsuke pulled himself to his feet.

Scooping the chicken up, Sōsuke tucked it under his arm and headed back through the garden gate to the cottage. 

Best make a snack of some kind. 

Somehow, Sōsuke knew that when Ukitake came out of this, he’d be ravenous.

#

Turned out for the best, because in the middle of steaming rice for a batch of shirasu donburi, Onigawa came stomping in from outside. “The barrier will be ready by morning,” she snarled. “Even if the boy is not.’

‘Boy’ must mean Ukitake, but not ready? That seemed impossible to Sōsuke. Onigawa was in one of her moods. 

“The sake merchant came this morning,” Sōsuke offered.

“Much good it’ll do me,” Onigawa said. Coming into the kitchen, she banged around looking for something. Spying the pickled sardines that Sōsuke had laid out, she grabbed a handful from the bowl and tossed them in her mouth. Leaning her hip against the counter, she glared at Sōsuke. “He’s going to be here all winter. And for what? Anyone can sense bankai is miles away for that one.”

Sōsuke knew he should probably keep his own council, but curiosity overwhelmed him. He set down the daikon he’d been trimming. “How can you tell? Sōgyo no Kotowari and Ukitake-dono seem very companionable.”

She gave him a smack on the head. “You’re not spying on our guest, are you?”

“No,” Sōsuke said. With a breath, he released both his tightened grip on the paring knife and the urge to shout that he’d been invited to participate in jinzen and so that wasn’t spying, was it? Two more slow breaths and then Sōsuke went back to chopping the diakon--deliberately, carefully. “It’s just seems obvious.”

“Obvious, huh?”

“Yes,” Sōsuke repeated. “Obvious.”

“Wrong.” She poked a finger into his bicep. He ignored it with effort, but then she did it again. “Wrong.” And again. “Wrong.” And yet again. “Wrong.”

Onigawa stood close enough that it would take nothing more than one quick flick and the paring knife would slide up under her rib cage. It was far too short to reach her heart, but the blade was sharp and it would be satisfying to give into his darkest impulses and try. 

She stepped back and smiled like a cat that had cornered a mouse. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she flipped back her mess of gray-streaked dark curls. “Look at those eyes, would you? What would your precious Jūshirō think if he saw that expression, eh?”

Sōsuke looked away. He set the knife down and pressed his palms down flat on the cutting board, his body bowed with the effort not to strike out. Despite himself, he could feel his reiatsu rising. A wind tugged at his hem. Pots on the counter began to rattle. A thunderous heaviness swelled with each heartbeat. Yet his voice remained calm--a deadly calm. “Why do you insist on baiting me?”

“Because,” she said. “I want to see the _real_ you. And, look: here you are.”

He constricted his reiatsu instantly, drawing it back in with an almost audible snap. Shaking himself out, Sōsuke stood up straighter. Though his hands shook and he couldn’t look at Onigawa, he went back to his work. “If this is who I am,” he said, “Then, I am as you have made me, Sensei. Your kindness and your patience have wrought what you see before you. Are you satisfied with your work?”

She struck him hard across the face just as the backdoor opened. 

Ukitake took in the situation with a horrified gasp. In an instant, he put himself bodily between them. “What’s going on here?”

“That little fucking bastard!” Onigawa yelled, still trying to reach Sōsuke around Ukitake, who seemed to be having to wrestle with her. Sōsuke cowered behind Ukitake’s back. But, he couldn’t keep the smirk from his face, which only made Onigawa more infuriated. “Look at him! Look at that smug little shit! He needs a good hiding. Get out of my way. I’m going to beat him senseless!”

Perhaps it was unwise, but Sōsuke couldn’t help himself. He peeked around Ukitake’s shoulder and stuck his tongue out at her.

Suddenly Onigawa remembered she didn’t need her to get her hands on him to hurt him. That damned ‘crawling rope’ Hadō shot out, grasping his wrists in a second. It wrapped around him like a twisting net and Sōsuke was slammed back into the tansu. He hit hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. 

He was pinned there, but the force of the push was the only real threat.

The Hadō itself was only at the fourth level. Sōsuke could break it, he knew he could. If he pushed out his reiatsu to its fullest current capacity, the bonds of the spell could be weakened and shattered.

Possibly even without the manacles restricting enough to break bones.

A shimmering above him signalled that Onigawa formed some new spell--something whip-like. Sōsuke could see it as it began to materialize in the air. In a minute, it would be solid enough to slash him.

Somewhere beyond the haze of magical energy, Sōsuke could hear Ukitake shouting now, “What are you doing? He’s only a child, Shishou. Stop!”

Onigawa’s energy whip cracked against Sōsuke’s chest, tearing yukata, ripping flesh. 

A shock of pain made him cry out. 

But, despite knowing he could break the bonds that held him, he let it happen again. 

And again. 

Because this time Sōsuke understood: fighting back meant falling into her trap. She wanted to see his power; she wanted Ukitake to understand, firsthand, how powerful and dangerous he was. Despite how much it galled him--how much it hurt--Sōsuke needed to play the weak, innocent one here… the _child_ Ukitake pleaded for.

He could tell it angered her, and that she could sense his refusal to even raise the slightest bit of energy to defend himself. He could feel it in the mounting power of each lash. 

Ukitake was yelling something, but Sōsuke couldn’t hear anything beyond his own sobs and the electric buzz of the magical whip.

At some point the onslaught stopped. The crawling rope released him and Sōsuke slumped to the floor. 

Ukitake rushed to his side immediately. “Oh dear gods,” he whispered, a tentative hand hovering over the tattered remains of Sōsuke’s yukata. “Lie still,” Ukitake pleaded. “I’m not an expert healer, but triage is basic training. And, I don’t think this is as… awful as it looks.”

It was the first Sōsuke noticed the blood.

A red stain spread from two spots below his ribcage. They throbbed with a raw ache, but that wasn't what distressed Sōsuke the most. In a minute, the blood would soak through the yukata and drip onto the floor. He pulled at the folds of the yukata, trying to catch up the offending seepage; he’d never be able to remove a bloodstain from the tatami; and tried to sit up to get more distance between himself and the flooring. 

“Just press on the wound, don’t try to get up.” Ukitake's hand held him down. In a second, healing energy washed over Sōsuke like the swell of an ocean wave. 

Onigawa stepped closer, gripping her hair in tight fists, tears streaming down her face. When their eyes met briefly, her face contorted and she swore softly. Turning on her heels, she fled.

“Sensei! No, don’t--” Ukitake shouted after the sound her feet and the porch door slamming back on its sliders. His lips pressed into a thin line and the muscle of his jaw clenched. “What’s even happening here? When did it get this bad?”

Sōsuke had no answer for that. The pain was fading to a dull memory now, at least. 

Something exploded in the front yard, rattling the roof and setting the rooster into a panic. Ukitake shot to his feet. It happened again, followed by a strangled cry. 

Ukitake’s feet were already moving as he asked no one in particular: “Dear gods, is she hurting herself now?”

Shakily, Sōsuke pulled himself the rest of the way upright to take stock of the damage. Six bowls had been broken. There was a scorch mark that left one of the cabinets smoldering and scarred. Blood--his blood--spattered the rice paper wall. 

And a large smudge of it marred the tatami.

Damn it.

His yukata was in tatters. Several angry welts marred his chest, though the deeper cuts on his abdomen had completely vanished. The only evidence of their existence was the congealing blood mass. The welts looked like they should still pain him, but Sōsuke was far more aware of the aching pull of his muscles from having had to hold back the urge to retaliate. 

Sōsuke dragged himself to his feet. 

The first thing was a change of clothes.

Then, he’d get the broom.

#

By the time Onigawa and Ukitake returned that night, the kitchen was mostly back in working order.

There was nothing to be done for the cabinet. They’d have to hire a craftsman from the village to reconstruct it. For the moment, Sōsuke removed the door, figuring that they could go without it until it was repaired properly. Sōsuke started on the shoji screen. He’d just fetched a new sheet from the storage shed and set about carefully removing the damaged piece of rice paper when he heard them come inside.

“I’ll talk to him,” Ukitake said from the main room.

Onigawa grunted, “I’m surprised he’s still here. I’d have run to the temple, if I were him.” 

“The fact that he didn’t should tell you something.”

A soft sigh from her: “I know. I know.”

Ukitake’s feet were tentative on the tatami. “Sōsuke?” 

Sōsuke wiped his hands on his fresh yukata. Setting down the sponge he’d been using to moisten the rice paper, he turned around. “I’m here.”

Ukitake stood in the doorway. He was looking around the kitchen with wide eyes. “I… was going to ask how you were feeling and check on your injuries. I didn’t think I’d finished healing you properly.”

The welts itched a little, but unless he actually banged into them with something, like he had when he’d accidentally dislodged some surplus lumber in the shed, they didn’t particularly bother him. The pain was far less than working around a broken wrist. 

“Well, er… you should really put all that down and rest now,” Ukitake said. He came over to put a gentle hand on Sōsuke’s shoulder and tenderly brushed aside a curl that had fallen into Sōsuke’s face. “Healing still needs time. Your body won’t feel right, otherwise.”

But there was dinner to be made and the screen to be replaced. Sōsuke glanced in the direction of the main room, thinking of Onigawa sulking there. “I feel better being busy, sir.”

“Clearly!” Ukitake chuckled lightly. “But, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.”

Then there was no choice. 

“Onigawa feels terrible,” Ukitake said, apparently noticing Sōsuke’s hesitation. Before his hand dropped away, he gave Sōsuke’s shoulder a little encouraging squeeze. “I’m sure she’d like the chance to apologize.”

Sōsuke blinked. “For what?”

Ukitake’s mouth opened, but no words came out for the longest time. “Ah… well… what happened earlier?”

Sōsuke tugged on the hem of his yukata. It was an old one that had become a little short for him and had grown uncomfortable across the shoulders. He had no idea what Ukitake meant, exactly. Certainly, he could guess that he must be referencing the crawling rope and the whip attack, but Onigawa had never apologized for hitting him before. What was different about this time? Perhaps the severity of it? If that were the case, she ought to have apologized for having poisoned him, but she never had.

Realizing that Ukitake seemed to be waiting for a reply, Sōsuke said, “Right. Of course.”

It was the thing he said to be agreeable or when he wasn’t otherwise sure what the proper reply was supposed to be.

Unfortunately, Ukitake seemed to realize that.

Before Ukitake could open his mouth to say anything about it, however, Sōsuke made for the main room. Rather than look at Onigawa at all, he busied himself with unrolling his futon and preparing the sheets. Once those were in place, he dug through the box he kept in the corner. It was the very one that Ukitake had sent him for his birthday, but he now kept all his various books in it, including the adventure novels that the salt merchant had brought him over the months. Finding a favorite, he crawled under the covers and opened it up. 

He was a chapter and a half in when Onigawa cleared her throat. “You alright then, kiddo?”

Sōsuke put his finger in the page to mark it and set the book in his lap. He glanced at where she sat by the irori, smoking her pipe. “I don’t think there will be any scarring.”

She stared at the smoke rings she made, not him. “Good, good.”

He nodded and picked up his book again.

“Look, maybe I was out of hand.” The way she glanced at the kitchen where Ukitake could be heard clanging pots made Sōsuke realize that any apology was not, in fact, for him.

Did he even need to say anything to accept this lackluster attempt? But, he cast his own glance at the kitchen door, and figured he should probably make an effort for Ukitake as well. “I provoked you.”

“You did,” she said, finally looking him in the eye.

“Yes, I did,” he agreed, happy that seemed to be all that was needed. With that, Sōsuke put his nose back into his novel, trying hard not to imagine what Ukitake was doing to his kitchen and how much there might be to clean in the morning. 

Before he knew it, his eyes drifted closed. Sōsuke woke up when the book fell against his nose, but he could only muster the strength to set it aside before falling back to sleep.

#

Sōsuke’s muscles were stiff and sore when he woke the next morning. He was surprised to find himself alone in the cottage and the light so high on the horizon already. How long had he slept?

Sliding open the porch door, he leaned heavily against the wall. Raising an arm to block out the light, he glanced out into the field. A giant half-sphere filled the grassy plane, like an oversized bubble. Along the hazy opaque surface, Sōsuke could see swirls of Kidō energy, pink and lavender and purple. 

Moreover, he could feel it, a low steady thrum against his solar plexus.

Ukitake’s barrier. No doubt he was sealed away already.

Sōsuke turned away and shut the door. If it was as late in the morning as it seemed, the chickens would be frantic. Plus, he had to see if there was anything he could do with the blood-stained tatami.

#

The snow started to fall by mid-afternoon. Sōsuke brought Onigawa lunch and the heaviest blanket he could find. She gave him a funny look as he settled the fur around her shivering shoulders. “Why are you so fucking nice to me? I beat the shit out of you.”

“You’re hardly the first,” he said, pouring her tea. At her curious look, he shrugged. “Though the Kidō was stronger than any warden’s fist.”

“I wasn’t looking for some kind of perverted compliment, for fuck’s sake.” She snatched the tea from him with a shake of her head.

Sōsuke noticed how the falling snow sizzled against the surface of the barrier and then evaporated. He reached out a hand, testing. It was not hot, no heat came from it. He glanced back at Onigawa. Despite the rosy color of her cheeks and the steam of her breath, she was not wet from the snow. “Your reiatsu? Does it destroy the snow somehow?”

“It’s the vibrations,” she nodded, taking a sip of the tea. “It breaks down the chemical bond.”

“That’s why you said I would ‘atomize’ the merchants,” Sōsuke finally understood. “You meant literally.”

“Yeah, you moron. What did you think I meant?”

He wasn’t entirely sure. “I’ve only ever made someone faint.”

“Yeah, what, a year or so ago? Before you knew any Kidō. You’re ten times stronger than you were then,” she said.

“Wait, are you saying that the well isn’t finite? I can grow _stronger_?”

She winced and cupped her forehead like she’d given herself a sudden, powerful hangover. “Bright Buddha, you creep me out. Can you even hear how greedy you sound?”

Sōsuke stood up. He glanced down at where she sat cross-legged on the bare ground glaring up at him with that spiteful look from between her splayed fingers. There was no point in arguing in the winter. It would only end the same as it had the day before. “Shall I bring dinner here to the barrier? Will it be just for you--?”

“Nah, he’s gonna have to resupply sometime. It might be late, but we’ll come back to the cottage.”

With a nod, he left her.

#

Sōsuke was tucked into his bedroll about to put away his book, when he heard Onigawa and Ukitake coming in for the night. Flipping back the covers, he headed to the kitchen where a large pot of butajiru simmered. He had the bowls ready by the time they were at the door, shaking the snow from their clothes.

Ukitake accepted the hot food gratefully. “Please tell me you made a lot of this.”

“I did,” Sōsuke said. “It’s in the biggest pot. You can help yourselves to more, as you like. Unless you need me, sir, I’m going to bed.”

“No, no, of course. I can’t wait to sleep myself!”

As he passed her, Onigawa grabbed Sōsuke’s arm. “Oi. I need a bath.”

A bath? Normally bath day was planned well in advance. They had a large metal tub, big enough for both of them to soak comfortably that they hauled out from the storage shed and set up in the backyard. They’d prepare a fire pit underneath and fill it with water, letting it warm slowly through the day. If Onigawa wanted a bath now, that would mean filling it boiling tea kettle, by boiling tea kettle. It would take hours to get it ready, and in this weather it would never be anything more than lukewarm.

But what else could he say? He dipped his head. “Yes, sensei.”

Ukitake frowned uncomfortably over his bowl of stew. He started to make a noise of disagreement, but Onigawa cut him off. “You should sit jinzen if you’ve got any energy left. I’m having a fucking bath. I’ve been sitting on the wet ground in a gods damn snowstorm.”

“Of course, it’s no problem,” Sōsuke gave Ukitake a reassuring glance. To Onigawa, he said, “I’ll let you know when it’s ready, sensei.”

It was almost two and a half hours by the time Sōsuke came back in. He half expected both of them to be asleep, but Ukitake sat in his bedroll dutifully sitting jinzen, a cup of tea forgotten at his side. 

Onigawa, meanwhile, immediately began to strip as she headed outside.

Sōsuke kept his eyes averted until he heard the backdoor close. Once she was gone, he lifted his head and let out a breath. 

“You work awfully hard,” Ukitake noted quietly, taking the sword from his lap and picking up the tea bowl.

“It’s actually a relief she wants to bathe,” Sōsuke said, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I’m not sure she bathed at all last winter.”

“Mmm,” Ukitake set down his tea. He patted the spot beside him. 

The last thing Sōsuke wanted to do was talk. He just wanted to curl up into his bed and try to get as much sleep as possible. Though, he could hardly leave the bath out all night, could he? If it froze, the tub might crack. They wouldn’t be able to replace it until spring. He’d have to stay awake in order to drain it and put everything away.

With another sigh, he plunked down next to Ukitake. It was, at least, warmer nearer the fire pit. He stretched out his hands to the heat.

Ukitake glanced at where Sōsuke usually slept, near the door. “How do you even see to read in that dark corner of yours?”

Since when was light necessary for reading? 

Ukitake must have seen the confusion in Sōsuke’s face. “You’ve been using your reiatsu to read, haven’t you.”

Sōsuke’s mouth opened, but he didn’t know what to say. If he had been, it was automatic, accidental. Would this be trouble?

“Good gods, that’s such fine-tuned control! And you were doing it the other night! I thought it was a bit odd at the time that you didn’t even ask for a lantern, but well, everything has been such a mess and I just assumed that you wouldn’t ask after all that…. Ah, anyway, that’s not important right now. What’s amazing is that I never felt a glimmer of the massive amount of spiritual pressure you must have been using,” Ukitake seemed as delighted as he was surprised. “Sōsuke, do you even need those cuffs anymore?”

“I…” this information was all coming too quickly. Wasn’t what Ukitake saying backwards? Wouldn’t Sōsuke need stronger cuffs if his reiatsu output was ‘massive’? “What?”

Ukitake was already scrambling to his feet, digging through the clothes Onigawa had dropped on her way out the door. “Ah ha!” he pulled out the slender cylindrical key from the tangle of Onigawa’s top. “Let’s give it a try, shall we?”

“But…” Sōsuke found himself standing up, backing away. “What if… I atomize the place?”

“There’s no way you’re that strong!” Ukitake laughed, but then he seemed to doubt himself almost immediately. “Is there? Well, perhaps let’s just remove one of them.” The key dangled from the chain, glittering in the low light, as he approached. “Look, what if we crack it open no more than a hair? We can snap it right back on if there’s any trouble at all!”

That seemed reasonable enough. Even so, Sōsuke felt a deep apprehension. This was the one thing he was never supposed to do on his own. Wasn’t this the whole reason he’d been put under Onigawa’s protection? 

Then, Ukitake said the thing Sōsuke couldn’t resist: “Aren’t you the least bit curious how far you’ve come?”

His hand shot out, offering a manacle.

Ukitake took his wrist and held it steady. The key was there in his other hand, ready to drop against the metal. “I have a good feeling about this. I really do,” he said. “And honestly? I could use a win today. So, please do your best!”

As the key descended Sōsuke closed his eyes, dropping into meditation. 

Which he was immediately jolted out of by the flash of hot spark on skin and the sound of metal cracking. His eyes snapped open.

The cuff fell away sure enough--into three pieces.

They hit the tatami softly, though to Sōsuke’s ear each was its own separate clang, like the toll of the temple’s bell: Boom. _Boom_. *Boom.*

Neither of them dared draw a breath. They stared in horror at the broken bits on the floor. Kidō arched like electricity between the metal bits for several seconds. Then, it seemed to sputter out, like a candle held in too strong a wind.

 _Wind_ …? Sōsuke looked around the cottage frantically, afraid he might see a whirlwind forming, unbidden, at his feet.

Nothing.

Ukitake’s vaguely terrified expression lightened into a huge smile. “Sōsuke-kun!” He clapped Sōsuke’s shoulder in congratulations. “You’re doing it!”

Was he, though? He flexed the fingers of his freed hand. If he was, it felt oddly… effortless.

For a brief moment, Sōsuke wondered he’d somehow lost his reiatsu, but he felt the same--no, with the cuff broken on the floor, he felt much, much… lighter. He was sure he could raise a hand and Hadō 31 would instantly form in his palm, with no need for the chant, no need to draw in a meditative breath in order to summon the power. 

It was like suddenly being able to breathe freely. 

Or like reaching the summit of a hill and finally being able to see beyond the trees.

In fact, everything seemed to come with its own second sense, an overlay image--as though he really had been blind and now he could see the reishi and reiatsu everywhere, in everything. 

He was sure he was grinning like an idiot. Sōsuke couldn’t remember ever feeling this flooded with euphoria, so elated. Did this mean they could remove the other manacle as well?

Of course, that was when Onigawa came back in. 

Wrapped in a towel, she fluffed out her hair with her fingers. She was humming some wordless tune under her breath. Sōsuke briefly thought she might not notice them or the broken cuffs at their feet, but then her nose went up like she was catching the scent of something on the wind. 

She turned to look at Ukitake, a smile forming on her lips. “I’ll be damned, boy. Is that actually bankai?”

Her expression instantly soured as she surveyed the scene: the key dangling in Ukitake’s grasp; the jagged, dead pieces of the manacle shattered at Sōsuke’s feet; and his exposed, naked wrist.

One hand stayed gripping the knot of her towel, but the other rose to move in rapid, precise gestures. 

Without the manacle dulling his senses, Sōsuke knew the shape of the spell before it even formed. “She’s building a shield between us.” Sōsuke gave Ukitake a little gentle nudge and stepped back, letting his back rest against the wall. “You might want to get out of the way, Ukitake-dono.”

A triangular shield materialized inches from Sōsuke’s face, pressing him into the wall firmly. 

His first thought was: _this should be more solid than it is._ In fact, Sōsuke could see through it in patches. He met Onigawa’s eyes through one of the swirling holes and she looked… afraid--as though it terrified her to know that her own power was weakened by having to keep Ukitake’s barrier up. She seemed even more distressed that Sōsuke knew it, too.

Her eyes held a kind trapped, desperate look Sōsuke had seen before.

Automatically, he went into the position he was taught in prison, to show compliance. Hands down, near his sides, but away from his body, palms turned up, fingers splayed. 

Ukitake took in Sōsuke’s position with a dark frown as though recognizing it, and turned to face Onigawa. “Sensei, stop this nonsense. Look at him, the boy has… surrendered. He’s not fighting you. That the cuff broke was an accident, my fault. Moreover, Sōsuke is controlling his power! You did it, you did your job.”

She tore her wild gaze away from Sōsuke. “No, I didn’t. No,” she was shaking her head almost manically now. “And he lied. I knew that little shit wasn’t telling the truth about leaving Kidō practice behind. He must have been practicing constantly, in secret, to have overwhelmed the manacle so much. I bet it broke the second the key touched it, didn’t it?”

Sōsuke could hardly deny any of that. He let his gaze drop to the floor in acknowledgment.

Ukitake took another step towards Onigawa. “But can you really blame the child? He’s at a rebellious age, sensei. We all pushed our limits when we were teenagers. Have you really given him a chance? You must see how brilliant he is, what a quick and eager student he would be.”

The shield seemed to waver. Was she in agreement or merely exhausted?

Ukitake took another step forward, he was close enough now to reach out a hand and place it on her shoulder. She startled a little and looked up at him, her eyes shining.

The shield faded. 

She crumpled into Ukitake’s arms. 

Even though Onigawa clung to Ukitake, breathing hard, Sōsuke didn’t dare move, didn’t dare twitch. Fortunately, he could stand in this particular position for hours, if need be. It was a discipline forged over a lifetime, and so he merely shifted his shoulders to rest against the wall more comfortably to wait the moment out. 

Ukitake and Onigawa spoke together, lowly. Sōsuke could only catch a few words here and there--Ukitake muttering something about the Seireitei; Onigawa speaking of someone Sōsuke had never heard mentioned before, a former student, a colleague?

When they settled more naturally by the irori, Sōsuke slipped outside to take care of the bath.

#

Onigawa came out to watch Sōsuke work. She had changed into a fresh yukata, one that seemed more suitable to the weather, padded with several layers. Plunking heavily onto the stoop, she pulled out her pipe.

As Sōsuke carefully drained the water into buckets, he could sense her reiatsu fluttering up against him--testing, tentative. 

“I can’t believe you’re this strong already,” she said, as she went through the motions of lighting up her pipe. “He’ll never believe me if I try to tell him how much of a fucking mutant that makes you... how wrong this is.” She paused to blow a stream of smoke out of the side of her mouth. “He’s too kindhearted. That fool was in there yammering my ear off about how you’re going to be SUCH an asset to the Gotei. Tch. More like a pain in the ass.”

It had always been clear to Sōsuke that Onigawa hated power. His power, in particular, but, perhaps, any power. 

Once the pail was full, he dumped it over the compost pile. The ground was already starting to freeze and the compost was the only place warm enough to absorb the liquid. 

A shoe hit the back of Sōsuke’s head. “Oi, I’m talking to you.”

He picked up the shoe and brought it back to Onigawa. She shrank back a little at his approach, as if she thought he might slap her with it. He bent to set it by her side on the wooden step. As he straightened up, he looked her in the eyes. “Why did you never tell me that if I grew strong enough my reiatsu would naturally contract?”

She snatched the shoe and busied herself with putting it back on.“Because I never thought it would apply. I’m not sure you’re getting this, kid.” She returned his gaze then, and held it. “ _My_ reiatsu was never at that kind of a level.”

He turned to look at the dome of Ukitake’s barrier. Around a corner of the cottage, he could see where it sat in the distance, deep into the grassy fields. In the moonlight, it seemed to glow, and yet to Sosuke's eyes it also contained vast tracts of darkness that reflected the stars.

It was beautiful, a masterpiece. The strength of it was palpable. Was it truly possible he was as powerful as that? More? 

She seemed to follow his thoughts through his glance. “Yeah. You see now?”

Sōsuke shook his head. “What I see is breathtaking, yes, but not terrifying.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

He sat down at her feet, just inside the pool of soft light cast by the back porch lantern. The ground was hard packed, frost melting where it touched Sōsuke’s bare skin. Overhead, the stars twinkled in the deep darkness of the night sky. 

“Why?” he asked, looking up at where Onigawa sat on the step above him, smoke glowing like silver threads around her head. “What makes my reiatsu dangerous?”

“Any man with too much power is dangerous.”

He wasn’t going to let her feed him simple platitudes tonight. Not when he could see how power flowed through everything, and how intensely beautiful the world was because of it. 

“Why?” he asked again. “What makes such a person dangerous?”

Onigawa shook her head mutely, like it should be obvious. Then, she let out a long trail of smoke. “You and I don’t talk about your life before,” she said, an odd sort of softness crinkled the corner of her eyes, like she didn’t want to give him the disrespect of pitying him. “But, you must have been on the wrong end of power at some point during that time, Sōsuke. Imagine if that person had no limits to what they could do to you, to anyone.”

Absently, Sōsuke scratched at the layer of dead skin at his newly exposed wrist as he considered this. There were certainly wardens who had abused their authority in the Maggot’s Nest. Others simply delighted in hurting--making someone else cry out or weep. The thought of any of those people having no restriction on the amount of pain they could inflict was… uncomfortable. 

“But, the world isn’t a prison, is it?” Sōsuke faltered, uncertain. He read enough to know that the kinds of people he found in the Maggot’s Nest could be found in seemingly the same numbers outside of it. There were powerful and powerless here as well, and perhaps the wardens simply wore the uniform of the shinigami. Perhaps this world was its own kind of prison, after all. But, he waved his hand to dismiss that idea and tried again: “Power… is that all it’s for? Hurting?”

“You know the answer already,” she said. “Kidō is a _weapon_ , Sōsuke. Nothing more.”

Nothing more?

_Nothing?!_

Fate had given him all of this reiatsu _only_ for the purpose of harm?

He tried one last time. “Is Kidō the only thing reiatsu can do?”

“Well….” Onigawa seemed to consider this seriously. She chewed on the end of her pipe for a long time before she said, “Healing is Kidō, but it’s really its own discipline. You have to study for years to become an expert healer. Though I have heard that it was developed initially as a way to deconstruct a body in a hurry, if you know what I mean.”

Of course. Putting together was merely the opposite of taking apart.

She looked at him again. “What are you thinking you want to do with your power, kid?” 

He wasn’t sure he knew all the options yet. He glanced at the still half-full bath. “For now, I would be happiest with a quicker way to do my work.”

She laughed lightly. Then, with a bone popping yawn, she said, “Well, if it wasn’t nearly morning, I’d teach you how you could pick the whole tub up with your reiatsu. But, I can’t even think straight anymore tonight. Sorry, kid. You’re going to have to do it the old fashioned way for now.”

Sōsuke pulled himself to his feet with a nod, but he was already working out how it might be done.

#

The next morning, Sōsuke was sure to brew the strongest tea. After all, with as little sleep as he’d gotten taking care of the bath, he needed it for himself, as well. After the tub had been drained, cleaned, and returned to its place in the shed, he’d spent the rest of the night attempting to lift small objects with his reiatsu.

He’d managed to briefly float a very confused, sleepy chicken before the manacle on his left wrist brought him up short. He’d had to give up at that point, for fear of exposing himself by breaking a wrist… or the remaining cuff.

It seemed that Onigawa was wrong. His ability was not beyond master level, yet. There was still some work to be done to control the flow of his spiritual pressure, or the manacle wouldn’t have reacted at all.

The odor of the brewing tea seemed to cause Ukitake to stir. His eyes briefly fluttered open before closing again. “That smells amazing,” he sighed, rolling over onto his side.

Sōsuke would have gotten up to turn the heat back on the pot of rice porridge he’d made, but he suspected Ukitake had fallen back to sleep. After a moment, he pulled himself to his feet, anyway. 

Standing in the kitchen, Sōsuke frowned at the huge pot. He shouldn’t have made quite so much food, but when he’d started cooking he’d been overwhelmed by hunger. Before he knew it, he’d eaten the entire batch of iri-tamago he’d made… half of it, before it had even finished cooking. He’d had to start the porridge as a back-up--and then he’d polished off three big bowls of it, himself.

He glanced out the backdoor. The snow had started up in earnest just after dawn--not that you could tell it was morning. The sun appeared as no more than a hazy smudge in the heavy cloud cover.

If today’s coming blizzard didn’t obliterate the roads, Sōsuke was going to have to beg Onigawa to let him make the journey to town to replenish their supplies. 

At least they had chickens.

That reminded Sōsuke. He’d better repair those loose planks on the fence and make sure no hungry foxes could slip through.

#

By the time Sōsuke made his way back in mid-afternoon, the house was empty. The tea had been drunk and the remains of the porridge licked clean. Someone, probably Ukitake, had even washed and dried the dishes. The only thing left for Sōsuke to do was to put them away.

After brewing a fresh pot, Sōsuke struggled open the porch door. Several inches of snow had already accumulated. The barrier stood solid, untouched by the weather. He could not see Onigawa, however, not at this distance. It was stupid of them not to have considered building a lean-to for her, at the very least.

Sōsuke had just stored a large quantity of excess lumber away.

Draining the tea from the bowl with a big gulp, Sōsuke let out a breath. He might as well shovel a path to them, and see what kind of shelter he could construct around her. 

Sōsuke enjoyed the fact that he could, at least, shove a lot of the snow away with the strength of his reiatsu. It no longer settled onto him, either, soaking his clothes. He felt mostly impervious to the cold, biting wind, as well. He was breathing hard with the physical effort of shoveling, but he was otherwise dry and warm by the time he made a path to where Onigawa sat, shivering miserably.

He handed her a thermos of tea and went back to the house to fetch the lumber and a tarp. 

By late mid-morning, he had a clumsy, if functional lean-to constructed around Onigawa. He’d even brought out bricks and cleared a space to build a fire ring for her. She hadn’t spoken to him the entire time, but when the fire was finally ablaze, he said, “This should have been in place from the start. I’m sorry, Sensei. I’ll stay and keep the fire going for you.”

Her gaze flicked to him. 

There were deep, dark rings under her eyes and a deadness to her gaze that Sōsuke had never seen before. Thick snowflakes dotted her heavily wet, gray curls.

“Sensei?”

“Just do it quietly for fuck’s sake. I need to concentrate.”

Lifting his freed hand, Sōsuke turned a palm towards the barrier. Onigawa’s Kidō seemed solid, strong. Was it draining that much of her energy? Thanks to the removed manacle, he had reiatsu to spare. Was there a way he could lend her his strength? “I could--”

“Get lunch, for a start,” she cut him off with a snap. “I’m ravenous.”

#

Despite her mood, Sōsuke kept his promise to tend the fire, leaving her side only when there was food to be made or chores that absolutely could not wait.

She was not well.

Sitting beside her, Sōsuke couldn’t help but notice how the snow that refused to touch him, piled deeply around her crossed legs. She shivered violently from the cold he no longer felt. He tried several times to offer his reiatsu. 

This last time he suggested it, she got so angry that he felt a wobble in the barrier. A wobble he tried to stabilize with the lift of a hand, but seeing that she slapped him hard across the face. 

“Stop interfering,” she shouted over the howl of the storm’s wind. “This isn’t just made with strength. This is a complex balance. A sudden influx of foreign reiatsu is exactly what it’s built to repel, you arrogant idiot! Your ‘help’ registers as an attack and if I’m battling on the outside as well as the inside, there’s no holding this!”

He should have known. He gave her a little acknowledging bow as he pulled himself back upright from where she’d sent him sprawling from the force of her slap.

He would have left her then, but Onigawa still seemed so miserable. Despite the fire he’d kept blazing, her teeth chattered unconsciously and her whole body shook with shivers. Was she really all right on her own? Could he not, at least, offer his reiatsu, like an umbrella over them both, as an additional shelter from the snow and cold? 

Standing up, Sōsuke rubbed his face where she’d struck him with her open palm. It stung hotly. She clearly still had enough spiritual pressure to bruise him. 

And the wherewithal to divert enough strength to be absolutely certain he would feel it.

Perhaps he should leave her to her own devices.

It was what she asked of him, after all.

#

By the next morning, the snow was up to Sōsuke’s knees.

If Onigawa or Ukitake had come in last night, their bed rolls were already folded up and stowed away.

After fortifying himself with a little tea and a hunk of smoked salmon he didn’t even bother to prepare, Sōsuke started the process of digging out. The chicken coop first, routes to the winter stores next. He paused long enough to make tea for the thermos and a proper breakfast for Onigawa, and then he began the long slog out to the barrier.

The snow fell in large flakes, swirling in the wind.

Nothing could be seen of the landscape besides white. As far as his eye could see, a blanket of snow covered everything, obscuring familiar landscapes. The meager light of the sun behind the heavy clouds made the air so gray it was almost impossible to detect the line of the horizon, except that the snow was slightly whiter and more brilliant than the sky. 

The barrier, at least, still stood like a bright purplish beacon. 

When he reached Onigawa, Sōsuke was horrified to discover she’d let the fire go out. He could only just distinguish the edges of the pit he’d built by the lump that it made in the snow near the barrier. The lean-to had saved Onigawa from being completely buried, at least. 

She took the tea with hands as cold as ice.

Her cheeks were rosy and chapped from being battered by the elements and there were icicles on her eyelashes and clinging to the curls of her hair.

Had she been out here all night? 

And why in all the gods’ names had she not built the barrier with herself _inside_ it?

It must be a restriction of the spell. But, then why had she agreed to this madness, knowing full well what winter was like here? 

“Why are you standing there gawping, you useless brat? Get the fucking fire going again!”

Sōsuke unearthed the fire pit from its snowy grave and fetched as much firewood as he could carry. They were running low on fuel for the fires, as well. 

Some kind of light flashed inside the barrier. Anxious about the state of their stores, Sōsuke spoke without thinking: “Is he getting any closer, can you tell?”

Her blow knocked Sōsuke in his knees, dropping him hard. He scraped his chin on the bricks of the fire pit, when he twisted to avoid toppling directly into the burning logs. She continued to shout obscenities at him that he no longer heard. Wincing, he gripped his knee, testing the damage. The pain was enough to make him hiss as he struggled back to his feet. 

It was only the thought of what might happen to Ukitake inside the barrier if it collapsed that kept Sōsuke from bashing the snow shovel over Onigawa’s head.

When she seemed to be done with her rant, he leaned on the shovel to look her directly in the face. His lips near her ear and his voice low, he spoke very calmly: “If you hit me again, I’ll happily let you freeze to death. You can starve, too, for all I care.”

The wind muffled the insults Onigawa threw at his back as he limped back to the cottage.

Her anger confused him. He could not fathom what he kept doing wrong, but, at some point it stopped mattering to him.

Sōsuke was done being hit.

#

He was making dinner when Ukitake and Onigawa came in for the evening.

Ukitake made his usual noises about how delicious everything smelled, but they were subdued and he sank to the floor heavily. 

Onigawa disappeared to change into dry clothes. 

Sōsuke had the table set by the time she came back in. Onigawa shot him a dark look, even as she lifted the covered bowl to scoop out a generous portion of rice. “Not prepared to make good on your threat, eh, Sōsuke?”

“My threat was quite specific, Sensei. When you hit me again, I will abandon you. Not before.”

Ukitake’s head dropped in despair for a moment before he lifted it wearily and put on a patient face. Raising his hands in surrender, his smile was thin."Enough, please. This has to stop. In fact, now the snow seems to have finally ended, perhaps there’s a solution. Sōsuke, could I have use of your paper and ink?"

This was curious line of thinking. How would writing solve anything? But, Ukitake was still looking to him for an answer. 

“Yes, of course, sir.” Sōsuke jumped up to retrieve the stash of papers from the spot by his futon. A little rummaging uncovered the ink stick and stone and a brush in decent enough shape. Handing that to Ukitake, Sōsuke fetched a bowl of water, as well. “Will this do?” 

"That will be fine, thank you, Sōsuke." Ukitake put aside his tea and took the writing equipment, rolling back his sleeves. Newly healed pink scars that Sōsuke was sure hadn't been there before tracked up his arms. "I need to get a message back to the Seireitei." As he spoke, he began to write in deliberate strokes, quite unlike the calligrapher at the temple. "Unfortunately the nearest outpost with access to butterflies is in the next district but there must be someone at the place you're going to who can cross the border to deliver it."

Sōsuke glanced at the door, imagining the snow drifts beyond. “I’m going somewhere, sir? In this weather?”

“This message is very important, Sōsuke. I would go myself, but I don't think your teacher would appreciate it if I asked her to start over.”

Onigawa made an angry sort of snort, but plastered on a little smile. “No matter what, we're going to need rice,” she pointed out. “And firewood.”

If the travelling monk was at the temple for the winter, Sōsuke was certain he could move between districts. If not, perhaps one of the others could. The temple might even be willing to loan them the supplies, which would save Sōsuke the additional travel into town. 

The trip would be difficult, but he could be out, away. On his own.

Ukitake finished the letter with a small flourish and pressed his thumb to the paper. A small pulse of kidō left a stamp in its wake. Then, he rolled it up and folded it. "There. Short and sweet," he said, holding it out to Sōsuke. "The best kind of message to send." He smiled mischievously. "Especially when the recipient is Shunsui."

Perhaps the mountain passes wouldn’t be that treacherous. Sōsuke took the missive. “Do I go now, sir, or can it wait until morning?”

“Oh, I’m sure morning will be fine!”

Sōsuke carefully set the letter on the nearest tansu. He picked up his dinner and took it with him into the kitchen. There was a lot to do to get the cottage ready for his absence.

#

The next morning, the bright sun reflecting off the snow woke Sōsuke early. When he pulled himself reluctantly from the warmth of the blankets, he was surprised to notice Ukitake up and making tea.

Onigawa’s snores filled the cottage. The sounds were heavy and deep. Sōsuke hated this particular noise.

“If you poke her, sir, she’ll roll--”

Ukitake hissed and put his finger to his lips. He motioned Sōsuke to the kitchen, his eyes dancing with mirth. 

Even though Sōsuke doubted that a herd of wild boars would wake Onigawa, he was curious enough about Ukitake’s antics to follow as he tiptoed into the next room. 

After sliding the kitchen door closed carefully, Ukitake whispered, “I want to teach you something. Something that might make your journey a little easier.”

“I already know that I break down the chemical bond of snow with my reiatsu,” Sōsuke said. “I can probably clear a path through the more difficult stretches with that.”

“I… Oh? That’s... very… uh! Anyway, that wasn’t what I was going to teach you, but I guess that’s good to know!” Ukitake said. Realizing he’d spoken at normal volume, he made a worried face and motioned that Sōsuke follow him out into the backyard. 

Sōsuke didn’t have the heart to tell Ukitake that Onigawa was likely in a stupor and more than a little dead to the world. She only snored like that when she’d been drinking. 

As they stepped outside, Sōsuke squinted. Sunlight reflected brightly on every snow-covered surface. 

“Are you up for this?” Ukitake asked. “It’s a Shinigami technique.”

Wasn’t Kidō also? What could be so special about this that Ukitake felt it was even more the property of the Shinigami? 

He nodded enthusiastically.

Ukitake gave Sōsuke a big smile and then he disappeared. Only to reappear a distance up the road. 

“Follow my reiatsu,” Ukitake shouted from where he now stood near the main path. “Like you did with jinzen.”

It was easier now with only one manacle throttling his power. Before his mind’s eye, Sōsuke could see how Ukitake boosted each of his steps with the ground’s reishi. What should have taken twenty steps, took only two, however. That part puzzled Sōsuke. Did it have something to do with those vibrations Onigawa spoke of? Did the reiatsu it took to do this technique actually somehow bend molecules--warp space and time?

Sōsuke couldn’t wait to try it on his own.

#

Ukitake had admonished Sōsuke to ‘take it easy’ on his way to the monastery. Flash step was a new technique, newly learned, and should be used with care. Sōsuke had honestly _intended_ to be obedient.

Honestly.

Only, he’d had such fun hopping from reishi swell to reishi swell that he found himself at the torii gate in little over an hour. 

Heavy clumps of brilliant, freshly fallen snow festooned the curved roofs of the main temple. The contrast of the white everywhere and red and gold painted wood made the grounds seem even more otherworldly to Sōsuke than they normally did. He made his way quickly to the head priest’s office. 

The office door opened to show a very surprised head priest. “Sōsuke? When did you arrive?” The old man blinked in the direction of the snow-covered courtyard. “It isn’t spring already somehow, is it?”

“No, sir.” Sōsuke reached into the fold of his yukata in order to show the head priest the letter Ukitake wanted sent on to the nearest shinigami outpost. But, before he could fish it out, the head priest grabbed his hand with surprising force and speed.

Adjusting his glasses, he inspected Sōsuke’s bare wrist. Then, the old priest seemed to scan Sōsuke’s face with mounting concern, particularly when his gaze seemed to alight on the bruise on Sōsuke’s chin where he’d scraped it on the fire pit’s bricks.

“How long do we have?”

The priest’s question confused Sōsuke at first. Then, he realized that the priest assumed that he’d finally broken and gone fugitive, become a runaway ‘slave.’ He was asking how long they had to prepare before an angry Kido Master appeared at their gates demanding her property returned.

Sōsuke shook his head and showed his other wrist with the cuff intact for reassurance. “It’s not what you think, Reverend. The manacles are old and worn out.” That was true, after all. “One broke, by accident.” Not a lie at all. “I’ve outgrown them.” Also, true, though not in the way the priest would likely imagine. “Perhaps, when the roads open in the spring, Onigawa will take me somewhere to have them reforged, made stronger.” Very possible, so also not an untruth.

Although the priest released Sōsuke’s arm after this explanation, he frowned deeply and let out a very unhappy grunt. “I am beginning to sympathize with those who tell me that we should not tolerate injustice in our own backyard.” His hand lifted as though he wanted to touch the bruise on Sōsuke’s chin, but he pulled away at Sōsuke’s unconscious flinch. “Hmph. You must have pushed all night through the cold and heavy snow to reach us at this hour. Come inside, sit by the fire. I’ll have breakfast sent for and, while we wait, you can tell me what in all the gods’ names you’re doing here in the middle of the winter if not finally gaining the sense to flee your so-called ‘master.’”

Sōsuke didn’t have the heart to tell the priest that he’d eaten a full breakfast no more than an hour ago.

#

There was something about food prepared by someone else that always made it taste more delicious than anything Sōsuke had ever made himself. So, as it happened, he had no trouble at all gratefully inhaling the food that Date brought to the head priest’s office.

Besides, the shunpo had likely used up reiatsu reserves. 

The connection between hunger and power was becoming patently obvious to Sōsuke. 

Despite what he’d suggested, the head priest waited until Sōsuke’s stomach was full and he’d wiped the last crumbs of rice from his lips before inquiring about his business. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. The head priest had a penchant for traditional Chinese furniture and so, instead of the floor, they sat on ornately carved rosewood. “Tell me what has brought you here.”

Sōsuke produced the letter finally. “We have a Gotei captain staying with us,” he explained. “This letter needs to reach the nearest shinigami outpost as soon as possible.”

“Mmmm,” came the high priest’s unhappy mutter. “This captain of yours must have come before the storm.” Not waiting for Sōsuke’s nod of acknowledgment, he added, “And that also explains why Komusō fled in such a hurry.”

Sōsuke had been hunting around for a last scrap of smoked mackerel, but this revelation brought him up short. He set his chopsticks in their holder. “It does?”

The old priest swallowed back the beginnings of a mischievous smile. “That old revolutionary is allergic to shinigami.”

Not literally, Sōsuke imagined. “Is that why he took up with a sect that would allow his face to be hidden?”

“Oh, I’m quite certain of that,” the head priest said, leaning in conspiratorially. “He has a lot of power, you know. Some of us suspect there’s a zanpakuto hidden somewhere in the hills.”

“Really?” The thought thrilled Sōsuke for some reason. Perhaps because it sounded like something right out of one of his adventure novels: a fugitive on the run! But, his excitement was dampened by the fact that without Komusō, there wasn’t likely to be anyone around who could cross into the next district. 

The head priest seemed to be considering the same problem. Finally, he stood up, “Date and I together can make it. Our cook was almost an Academy student, you know.”

Sōsuke did know, that was how he first heard about the connection between power and hunger. Something else about this whole situation suddenly confused him. “Why are there barriers at all?”

The old man paused. He’d been gathering up some of his things, including Ukitake-dono’s letter. He tucked the letter into an inner pocket of his kosode with a sigh. Walking past Sōsuke, he ruffled Sōsuke’s hair. “There just are. It’s the way things have always been.”

Sōsuke frowned, but accepted this non-answer. He picked up the all-but-licked clean bowls and set them on the tray in order to return them to the kitchen. This was the sort of question best saved for the bucket-hatted monk, Komusō.


End file.
